The Sight
by Merenwen 'Aldalas' Silverleaf
Summary: Within mere hours of returning home to Rivendell after a long journey, Aragorn is attacked and taken without a trace left. Nothing... that is, except for a short note to Elladan and Elrohir from an elf they hadn’t seen since they were small.
1. Prologue

**Prologue **

The world was still, the sharp sounds of silence harshly cold on the young man's ears. He carefully rolled off his thin blanket and crawled on all fours out of the tent.

Yesterday's rain was still fresh in the once hard-packed dirt. The boy couldn't see the ground as he crawled over it, but his keen sense of smell easily detected the sharp, soothing smells of the earth. Listening warily to make sure he had not woken any of the guards or worse, Ralorn, he stopped next to a large puddle of dark gray mud and plunged his fingers into the drying surface.

For a while he sat there working deeper into the soft mud, probing and breaking any large clumps until the mud flowed over his hands like thick butter. Once he felt the mud was ready, he began to shape it with his experienced hands.

Several minutes later as a rosy dawn touched the tips of the mountains; he set his creation down in front of a nearby tree and sat back blankly. The rising sun brought the young man no detail to his world. Real life for years had never entered his eyes, yet misery would enter his heart every time he heard anyone speak of the world in detail, jealous that others could see things he could not. He wished he could actually see the small figure he had made. A sigh of despair escaped passed his lips as he reached down and touched the figure's head.

Again he let his fingers flow over the creature's form. The line of the head, the curve of the neck, the angle of the back and sides, the points of the legs, and the unbalanced wave of both mane and tail. Nothing, no detail escaped the eyes of his touch. He smiled slightly at his work. His father would have been proud. His hands stopped. His father...

_No_, he told himself fiercely. _I'm not going to go through that again. He's gone, and I'm alone. That's all there is to it. Stop dwelling on the past. It's been too long._ Shaking his head, he lectured himself. _It's been nine years. Nine years!_

Feeling drained of energy; he turned to reenter the tent.

"What are you doing, boy!" A harsh, loud voice suddenly exploded somewhere to the left of him. It was ironic how such a clear voice could bite so. The boy froze, terrified. Mayroniel, Ralorn's second-in-command had found him. He could hear the elf's footsteps behind him as Mayroniel stomped to him. He tried to crawl away, but suddenly he was being lifted up by his long tangled hair, failing to stifle a small cry.

"You know you aren't allowed out here!" Mayroniel's hand roughly shook him. "You can't leave the tent without a guard. And for that, boy, leaving and trying to escape, you will again be bound outside Lord Ralorn's tent." Mayroniel dropped his head in disgust. The boy waited for Mayroniel to tell him to go back to his tent, but instead the elf seemed to pause, then walk over to where the puddle of mud and the small figure lay in waiting. A muttered curse and a loud stomp of a leather boot touched the boy's ears, as did the sound of the mud hissing its displeasure. The young man dropped his head in defeat. Mayroniel had destroyed it.

Lying on the ground, he mourned for the creation that he had so painstakingly put together, now destroyed because of the feelings the figure inflicted. The talent his father had taught him was all he had left, and it was that gift that drove Ralorn to destroy all he had ever loved. The boy hated Ralorn. He hated the elf's men.

"Hey, what have you got there?" Mayroniel's voice suddenly tore at him once again. The young man looked blankly in his direction. What was he talking about this time? He listened as Mayroniel walked closer, and suddenly he knew. His hands were quickly at his own throat, working fast to hide the thong of leather that held his most treasured possession. Mayroniel's rough hands suddenly knocked his own away, and he could feel the elf's hands as he lifted the leather thong and the pendant that hung from it away from the protection of his worn tunic.

The boy couldn't believe he had been so careless. The pendant had been a creation of his father's, long before Ralorn came - a small hollow walnut shell, beautifully carved with designs and studded with silver. To the untrained eye it was exactly what it looked like - merely a walnut shell, but to the boy it was so much more – even more than he knew himself. He could hear Mayroniel laugh happily, and flinched slightly at the unpleasant sound.

"Your father made this, didn't he? I recognize the design." The boy did not respond. He never spoke to anyone, ever. "And now it belongs to Lord Ralorn." With a swift jerk of his hand, Mayroniel snapped the leather thong. The prick of pain on the back of his neck was nothing compared to the stab in his heart. The boy's blank eyes stared up wildly at Mayroniel as he listened to the flick of a coat, his treasure stowed away in the depths of a pocket. Mayroniel's hands were suddenly on his shoulders, and he was roughly lifted from the ground and directed back to the tents, stumbling and falling the whole way because of Mayroniel's haste.

As he again struggled against the bonds that bound him to a pole outside one tent, the boy sighed deeply and mournfully. After years of carefully hiding that shell from sight to keep it from being taken, it had all come to nothing. Mayroniel had found it in the end. The last memory of his father's work was now gone into the hands of a greedy treasure hunter. He had promised his father he would protect it. The boy cursed his weakness – he cursed his blind eyes. He was never going to touch the gift again, the last and most prized of his father's creations that he had managed to keep safe... until now.

A few hours later the camp was in motion, and Ralorn kept the handful of his men calm with assurance. Walking with a sure pride around the small camp toward his mount, the full sun caught the true reflection of his features.

He was a tall, proud elf with dark blue eyes and streaked brown-black hair that was usually woven in braids and pulled back away from his face. His eyes were hard and defiant, cold and merciless as they watched the world around them with dislike. He is known to be as silent as an owl and as clever as a fox, clad in black and dark grey, wandering like a shadow through the trees. One moment he was here, the next over there, constantly moving in the world he understood well from years upon years of exploring it.

Yet of all his defining features there is one that sets him apart. On the left side of his face a large burn mark mars his skin. It crosses diagonally over his forehead, in between his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, down to the side of his mouth, vanishing around his chin and filling the left side of his face. The edge-line is jagged, though it changes smoothly from the deep reddish-brown to the normal tanned complexion that Ralorn claims as his own. One might think that it would make him look horribly deformed, but rather, it seemed to complement his looks to those who know him. And he himself did not revel in the age-old scar. He did not believe in hiding something that was a part of him.

He approached his mount and stroked the stallion's great neck. If Ralorn bore any love for anything, it was for his horses. At one time, he was renowned for his skill with the magnificent animals, but he was now losing himself in the wilds and its creatures. Now, he was on his way to avenge what he had lost - a plan that had been forming for years was finally falling through, the soul-eating want for revenge that attacked him daily as the very cause of his life long pain and anger.

Mayroniel walked up next to him quietly. "My lord, we are ready to move out."

"Good Mayroniel. Very good." His voice was deep and rich, yet carried a strange tone that made it sound hard and deadly. "Let them mount up, and make one carry the boy. He is not to be left behind." He rubbed his stallion's forehead, and then looked at Mayroniel closely. "I heard you earlier. What did you take from him?"

Mayroniel froze at the request for a mere instant before responding, hesitantly putting one hand inside his pocket, fingering the walnut shell. "Yes...yes, my lord, I discovered something the boy was hiding from us all this time. I was saving it for you." He withdrew the leather thong and let the silver bound walnut sparkle in the sun, at the same time cursing himself for not being more careful and hiding the pendant sooner.

"Why, thank you Mayroniel." Ralorn extended his hand and took the shell, relieving Mayroniel of his hesitant grip on the thong it was strung to. "Now come, if we wish to reach Rivendell by tonight and be well hid without notice, we must leave now."

"Yes, my master." Mayroniel turned and walked brusquely to the other five riders, barking orders to mount up. On his way, he untied the blind boy from his post and dragged him to one rider, throwing him over one horse's back like a sack of barley. The elf that had to bear him grimaced at the extra weight of a mortal, but one look from Mayroniel kept his tongue silent.

Ralorn mounted smoothly onto his stallion's back, and with a firm squeeze of his legs urged the horse forward. All his men rode bareback, as did he. He never saw the use of the bits of harness men and elves sometimes favor. He saw it as limiting the animal's movement. When all were ready, Ralorn gave his mount a swift kick in the ribs, and they bolted forward.

_I'm coming for him, my friends,_ he thought happily as he directed the stallion into the safety of the thick woods. _I wonder if you even remember me...remember what you did to me. I'm coming now. We shall see how your new brother enjoys my company. No more than you did once, I'm sure. No more... _


	2. Remember

Chapter 1

**Remember**

A lone figure entered the realm of Rivendell. Passing quietly through the trees he reached the outside borders and gave his weary stallion a nudge in the ribs, walking the horse to the side of the Last Homely House. When he reached the stables he stiffly dismounted and led his horse to his stall.

He had been gone too long - far too long. He knew that to the elves he had been gone what seemed like only days, but for him it was months learning the ropes of a ranger and discovering the minds of men. He desperately missed the family he had left here. The letters they had sent back and forth had done his heart good, but in the last few weeks he yearned for more than their familiar handwriting.

He quickly removed all the equipment from Tole, his stallion, and brushed the horse's sweaty body. Tole was a tall, well-bred elven horse of Lord Elrond's stables, one of the finest they had. The ranger had known the horse all the animal's life, and even trained the stallion himself. Tole followed the man everywhere, and he had never trusted a horse more. With an understanding heart he brushed the horse dry, fed him, and covered the stallion's dark copper coat with a thick blanket. When all was done, he bid his friend good night, and walked slowly out of the stall.

He had hardly made it ten feet out of the stables when someone grabbed him from behind.

Weariness left his limbs as he struggled to relieve the firm arm lock he was in, but whoever was holding him was far stronger than he, and had the element of surprise on his side. He tried to loosen the grip about his neck and arm, but it was of no use. Desperation of survival raged within him; he elbowed his attacker hard in the ribs, and listened to the satisfying grunt of surprised pain. The arm around his neck loosened. He twisted around and tried to trap the figure, of whom he immediately noticed had long dark hair, and was as tall as himself.

The unknown being threw himself at the man, clasping him tight about his middle and knocking him to the ground. It turned into a full-out wrestling match - both of them working to trap the other. Grunts, yells, and curses rent the air until the ranger was finally trapped underneath his attacker. He tried to move, but the one above him pinned him tightly to the ground.

The man was breathing hard, trying to free his hands, but it wasn't any use. He couldn't move. Chest heaving, he looked up into the dark form above him, who was steadily growing brighter, allowing a strange but dearly familiar elven glow pierce the darkness that wrapped around them.

"E-El-Elrohir?" the man squinted up at the familiar face of his brother, watching the twin grin slyly at him, laughing softly.

"Very good, Estel. For a moment there I feared you had forgotten me completely!" Elrohir got up, allowing his little brother to breathe, and helped the man stand. "You almost had me there." Aragorn straightened his overcoat and brushed his long hair from his face, glaring at the twin with a small smile on his face.

"Elrohir, what are you trying to do, give me a heart attack right in front of Ada's front door? And no, I didn't get you once! You-"

"No, that elbow jab in my ribs did you good. I wasn't expecting that. You've learned something while you were away." Elrohir smiled playfully at him.

"Elrohir..." Aragorn smiled back and gave the twin a firm hug. "I've missed you so."

"You mean you missed all the good tackles like that one?"

Aragorn snorted away a laugh. "Always. No one's as good a wrestler as you, my brother."

"...I missed you too." Elrohir wrapped his arms tightly about the man, refusing to let him go. Time had crawled for the twin while Aragorn was away, and it was good to have him home.

Realization suddenly struck Aragorn of how much he had longed for his family while traveling with only Tole as his companion. As much as he loved his horse, it wasn't nearly the same as having one of his brothers, his father, or his best friend to talk to. When he finally let go and looked at his brother again, he could see only Elrohir's smile surpassing his strange elven glow.

"Come with me." Elrohir steered the man away from the stables and toward the now not-too-distant shape of Rivendell, the large estate widening in front of them. "We've been waiting for you. Only you, Estel, can make an elf pay closer attention to the passage of time. Never have my days dragged so when you left!"

Aragorn smiled at him as they walked through the long grass. "Well, if you'll still have me, I hope to stay a good long while now."

"You know you can always come here...back to us."

Aragorn stopped and faced the twin. "I would never pick anywhere else." _'It's the only home I know.'_

Elrohir placed one hand on the man's shoulder, smiled, and pushed him slightly to get him moving again. "I know." They walked in silence for a few moments, and then entered the house.

For the second time in ten minutes, Aragorn was again bowled down by another familiar twin.

"Elladan!"

"Estel, where have you been? Time crawls so!" Elladan heaved the man to his feet and gathered him in his arms, laughing as Aragorn regained his breath.

"So I've heard. I can't imagine how Ada survives with you both without me..."

Elladan cuffed him lightly on the ear, smiling broadly, but before he had a chance to respond another deep voice entered the conversation.

"I should have known." A knowing smile echoed the words that were spoken. Another elf had walked up silently behind the trio, his eagerness for the young man's return no less than that of his twin sons.

Aragorn turned his head to his approaching father, smiling again. "Ada!"

Elrond grasped his youngest firmly on the shoulders and looked at his son with a critical eye. Aragorn was nearly twenty-five now, and his face had hardened to the firm features of a young man. He was fit and well, though quite obviously tired, but his eyes still held a bright sparkle that was all his own, that held the innocence of his younger years.

"It is good to see you again, Estel," Elrond said joyfully, pulling the man into a quick, firm hug. He and his sons had learned to respect the time they still had with the man, for none of them were sure just how long the ranger would stay at home, nor how long he would be gone if called for again.

"I have missed you all so," Aragorn murmured softly into the folds of his father's soft robe, nearly giving in to the fog that muddled his brain. When he pulled away, Elrond could see weary lines creasing the edges of the young man's eyes. Nodding in understanding, he turned to the twins.

"Could you two please take Estel to his room before he falls over?" Aragorn shut his eyes and snorted at the good-natured jest. Both the twins attached themselves to either of Aragorn's sides and began to lead him down the hall. "We'll need to talk more in the morning."

"Ok, Ada," Aragorn called over his shoulder quietly. "Thank you."

"Good night, my son."

The twins both began talking to the man as soon as they rounded the first corner, but Aragorn was barely tethered enough to his world to walk, let alone listen. As soon as they reached his room, he quickly collapsed into bed without even changing into his sleeping clothes.

"Estel?"

"...Mmm?" someone was talking to him, but the weary part of his body was taking over. Whoever it was better hurry before they lost him.

"Estel, we heard that there have been several people gone missing, carried off by slave-traders very close to here. Did you ever hear anything about it?"

"Yes... a little bit…. While I was near the borders of the Misty Mountains south of here, I heard of a small band of men... although some think they are elves... that may have a connection to the disappearances of the 10 or so people that have gone missing... but I was on my way home, and didn't stick around to find out more."

"Elves? They think they are elves?"

"... Mm-humm... because they never seem to tire... and their garb is most unlike a common man's or thief's... and they have a unique talent with horses... but that doesn't always mean anything, right?"

Silence. "Right. Well, good night, Estel. We'll talk again in the morning."

"Good night." Aragorn fully gave in to sleep, and the twins quietly left his room. Outside the man's door, a worried conversation took place.

"What if it is him? Could he still really come back?"

"No, El, it's just a rumor. But the talent with horses...We'll have to wait for now and find out what happens."

"But he might know about Aragorn! He could-"

"No, he won't. It's not going to happen again. We'll keep an eye out. And we'll have to ask Aragorn about it again in the morning. He may know more."

"All right. Come on; let's get back to Ada…."

§§§

He dropped on all fours, almost eagle-spread as he crouched on the ground, peering silently through the branches of the leafy bush in front of him. He hadn't made a sound, that he was sure. Smiling grimly, he pushed through the branches, coming closer to his prey.

This job had never been easy. Getting past elves, even if he was one himself, was careful and dangerous work. He had spent the last several hours traveling through the surrounding forests of Rivendell, avoiding every elven warrior he could sense.

By the Valar, why did it always have to be so difficult! Learning to not even breathe wrong had been long and tedious training, but he knew how to avoid full-alert elves and he was doing it now. His upper lip twitched as he slunk through the trees, crawling away from four warriors hidden in low in the leafy branches of the sturdy oaks. He normally would have preferred to slay them all so he would not have to worry about them catching him on his way back out, but his master had told him to not shed any blood. Rather, he was to use his skills to disarm and knock out anyone that tried to interfere with his quest. Besides, the first half of the journey was nearly complete, for he was now closing in on the inner walls.

When he reached the edge of the forest and closed in on the stables, he stopped and looked up at the sky. Though the inky blackness was dotted with stars and the moon nearly full, the light was overcast with a thick blanket of clouds. Good. This made it less likely for him to be seen as he crossed the fields between the stables and the estate. Keeping low to the ground, he kept all senses trained onto every move he made and the move of every elf within his long-range proximity.

He was almost there...

Aragorn's eyes flew open. Something had woken him. He rolled his worn body over until he was facing his window, and the dark open sky beyond it. Thunder rumbled and rolled; it would storm soon. The glass creaked softly - the window was open. Normally the open window would have caused him no concern at all, for he was quite warm, and the breeze comforting. But something was sliding an icy finger down his spine, and though he hated to admit it, right now, he did not want that window open.

Wearily he pushed his blankets aside and slid off his bed. He stood in front of his window moments later, fumbling with the latch. When it was bolted shut, he closed the curtains and silently padded away. Curling up under his blankets, he turned his back to the window. He was in Rivendell, the refuge he had long sought for months. His family was here, his heart was here. Within these walls he found hope and peace.

Then why did he feel as though he should not be here?

Unknown fears made him brace himself. Tired as he was, he could no longer close his eyes. Creeping unease did not fail made him shudder with uncertainty. Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but something was definitely wrong. It was if he was being watched, spied on. There was no comfort now in thinking about his family. Were they lying awake too, unable to shake the feelings of the unknown?

Irritated at these unhesitant feelings, he began to wonder if he were regaining old childhood fears of unknown noises. Trying to be confident that this was the answer, he forced his eyes shut and sighed.

Then suddenly he again felt a distinct cool breeze at his back. He twisted around quickly, only to discover that the window was open again, the curtains flowing softly in the wind.

So close; so close he could feel the warmth of firelight beyond the walls. He quickly stopped and froze as one guard suddenly stood from his own spot and began wandering the grounds, searching for the answer to a question only his senses could ask. The unknown elf groaned inside as the warrior got closer, holding his sword loosely in both hands, his bright eyes piercing the dark night. He would have preferred to remain unnoticed until this job was done.

'_Just a little closer...' _the hunter thought, watching the warrior from behind the tree he had taken cover behind. Noiselessly his hand lighted on the knife at his side, but then remembered his master's stiff warning. Annoyed, he let go of the hilt and instead let his hands fall to his sides, loose and ready to attack.

'_Come on... take two more steps and find yourself out cold, or turn around and go back... make your choice!'_

The warrior took another careful step toward his hiding spot.

'One more... go or stay...it matters not to me...as long as you're out of my way...' 

The warrior hesitated, then again inched forward. Yet at mid-stride, a sharp whistle sounded somewhere to the left of him, a warning of danger from another warrior. But it was too late.

The hunter struck with the speed of a snake, grasping the elf about the throat with one hand and twisting the blade the warrior held with the other. The elf cried out in alarm before the hunter could stop him, and he quickly cut the warrior off by throwing the warrior over his shoulder and slamming him down to the hard ground. One fist made swift contact with a tender spot next to the warrior's jaw before the elf could react, and watched the bright eyes grow glazed. He had been stunned, if only for a few minutes.

The hunter let out a soft curse. There was no way that others could not have heard that cry; he was going to get caught if he remained there. Leaving the stunned warrior where he lay, the hunter vanished into the darkness of the trees just before a handful of Rivendell warriors came to discover the source of the noise. In no time at all they had found the body of their stunned comrade.

Barely half a minute had gone by before the forest was alive with warning calls. Rivendell knew she had an unwanted hunter running loose in her grounds, and it took only minutes for the guard outside the walls to know it and ready itself.

The hunter inwardly growled at himself for being so careless. How could he have made such a foolish mistake? He waited for the coast to clear, and then ran silently to the shadow of the estate, wandering the Homely House's exterior outline. Freezing far too often than he would have liked for assembling elves to search and pry around the sidewalls, it took him long to find a way to get in.

Then suddenly glancing up as he stood next to a tall tree, he noticed a large window near the trunk of the tree under which he sat, the glass open slightly and moving in the gentle wind.

No wait... this wind was not gentle any longer. Though the night was warm, the heaviness in the air was growing. The weather was picking up; it was going to rain soon. Thunder rolled over the distant mountains. He was going to have to move faster.

"Elladan!"

The elf jerked out of his sound sleep when Elrohir suddenly burst into his room, pulling a thick tunic on over a white undershirt. All thoughts of sleep were forgotten he jumped up, but was cut off from speech as Elrohir spoke first.

"Elladan, the warriors had discovered a strange intruder that is resisting both sight and capture. He's already stunned one warrior and there could be more. We've got to get out there to help search." Elrohir watched his twin carefully as Elladan registered this all in seconds and like his brother quickly pulled on a tunic and his cloak, picking up his weapons from a sidewall. Elrohir already had his cloak, though it was draped over his arm and his weapons in one hand. Setting them down for a moment he too clasped his cloak in place and followed Elladan out of his room.

The two brothers walked side by side down the hallway, discussing the situation. "Does Ada know?" Elladan asked quickly.

"Yes, he's the one who told me. He's already outside. I came to get you as fast as I could, for Ada had no more time."

"Come on," Elladan gestured his twin to the opposite end of the hallway, of which was suddenly lit up with a flash of lightning. "Let's go get Estel. We'll need the help."

Without conscious thought the hunter jumped up lightly and soundlessly onto the tree trunk that he had crouched behind and climbed up faster than a squirrel. But just after he reached halfway, a shadow overcast a small part of the window and the glass slid shut.

Undaunted, he waited until the shadow had passed on before again picking up his upward climb. Reaching the top, he sat on a strong branch just outside the window and pulled out his knife.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the cloudy sky grew darker. The wind was picking up, and the hunter worked faster to pick the lock, then quietly eased the window open and jumped from the tree branch to the inside of the room, hiding himself well in the... bedroom? Yes, it was a large bedroom. He melted into the shadows as someone bolted upright at the feel of wind from the now re-opened window, turning around swiftly to look out into the dark sky. A flash of lightning lit up the whole room, and it was all the hunter needed to discover that he had by some twist of fate entered the right room. His master's detail in the description of whom he was supposed to recover was far too vivid, and there he was – the only human in Rivendell pushing blankets aside and walking over to the window to again shut it, turning his back on his own window and again walking back to his bed.

His search complete, he pulled a length of rope off his belt. The hunter could hear running in distant halls, and sometimes he could catch a word or two of urgent conversation with his true elven hearing, but he was not going to get caught now that he was so close. Footsteps were ringing far down the hallway outside the human's door. He could suffer no mistakes.

Cold sweat broke out on Aragorn's forehead. He willed himself to calm down, for he could find nothing out of the ordinary, other than his window. But everything inside him was screaming to get out of there! His hands were clenched into fists as he again lay back down. He could hear the thunder outside, and all of these little things that were happening to him were sending his brain into a paranoia overdrive.

He rolled on his side, facing the wall away from his window and clenched his eyes closed tightly, encouraging his heart to slow by breathing deeply. But even as he tried, it only seemed to get worse. The silence was so loud, he ears were ringing.

Then he heard a creak. He had hesitated too long.

He jumped up, but his attacker was already on top of him. His hands were wrenched to the side and gripped tight with one strong hand, while the other clamped over his mouth to keep him from shouting out. With the element of surprise on his side, Aragorn's attacker had the ranger under his control in seconds.

Chest heaving, Aragorn looked up wide-eyed at the face of his intruder, but in moments his hands were quickly released and he was punched hard across his temple. Dizzy blackness claimed his vision for several moments, and by the time he came to, he had been effectively bound and gagged. The unknown being lifted him as though he were only a small child and easily shouldered his weight, obviously desperate to get out of the room. Just before the hunter disappeared with the ranger through the large window, he pulled from one pocket a piece of paper and left it on the ruffled pillow at the head of the bed. And then he was gone, taking the human with him. It was not a moment too soon.

Small patters were heard against the windowpane seconds later. It was beginning to rain quite hard.

The twins burst into the room, but they were greeted with an unmade bed and lightning revealing the empty interior, making the dark room glow. Rain slated down the walls outside in sheets. Though it looked innocent enough, that possibly Estel had already gotten up and was outside helping to look for the intruder, but somehow they knew it was not so. Neither of their eyes took long in discovering an open window, or a scrap piece of paper on the pillow. Curiously, Elladan picked it up and began reading. Moments later and only through the first two lines, he let out such a curse it made Elrohir flinch. Both the twins began reading together, their hearts dropping in fear as they read through the short but angry lines on an age-old memory, and a new threat.

_Remember me? I shall assume not, for it has been long since you both last saw my face, scarred by an incident that claimed what I knew as the scant remainder of my security and my family. I've come to repay you for what you both did to destroy me. The man I took should become a useful prisoner, and when I torture him, break him and send him back to you, then perhaps you will see what torment I went through all my life. And since for reasons unknown to me that you value his life, you will be lucky indeed if you find him alive. I plan to return again to claim what is mine. You will not stop me from taking her again._

_Remember me now?_

The twins wasted no time in searching the room once they had finished the letter, Elrohir taking it for safekeeping. Though the room was for the most part unharmed, the latch on the window had been broken, apparently with a knife. That served all the needed proof.

The two brothers stared at each other; quiet, yet fierce understanding passing through them. Then turning as one, they ran out of the room, angry taunts nipping at their heels, knowing that if they didn't leave soon, it might be too late.

Someone had broken into Rivendell, and whomever it was well trained in the art of stealth. They might have been able to find the strange hunter, but the rain and lightning covered any tracks. The young man and his attacker disappeared into the wind and rain.

Aragorn . . .

Arwen . . .

What had they done? What could they do? But if not, if they did not try... what would happen to them all?


	3. A New Threat

Chapter 2

**A New Threat**

Legolas Greenleaf, the prince of Mirkwood, was working silently on his bow up in a tree far outside the palace walls. He had only just returned from the forests, ridding the inner edges close to the palace of its growing number of orcs. The foul beasts had become increasingly aggressive in the past few months. Once the job was complete and the problem under control, Legolas had returned home with his group only that morning. Safe again, the elf prince had quickly realized that one end of his bowstring had become frayed, so at the first available moment he set out by himself to care for the weakened string.

As he worked the new string into its notch to be sure it held tightly, his sharp ears suddenly caught the sound of hoof beats off in the distance, headed his way. He jumped lightly down from his branch and swung the fresh bow on to his back, settling it into place. He wound up the old bowstring and stowed it away in a small bag tied to his waist, and then patiently waited for whoever was coming, the sound of hoof beats growing louder.

Moments later two horses ran into view, baring two riders between them. Both the cloaked riders took notice of the prince, and one of them called out urgently to him.

"Prince Legolas! Legolas!" They spurred their horses forward, eating away the distance between the two groups. "Legolas!" the voice was suddenly familiar.

"Elrohir? Is that you?" Legolas smiled as the twin threw back his hood, his features clear now. The other rider did the same, an exact image of his companion. "Elladan? What are you both doing here?"

It wasn't that Legolas didn't want the twins there for they were very good friends, but visits were becoming few and far between as Elladan and Elrohir began to spend more time riding with the Rangers, and Legolas because of his duties at home and the friendship with Aragorn that enjoyed claiming much of his time.

Elrohir shook his head, extending a hand out to the prince, not even stopping his mount. "We'll have to explain on the way. Quickly my friend," Legolas took the offering hand and vaulted into place on the horse's back behind Elrohir, wrapping his arms around his friend's waist as Elrohir kicked his horse into a gallop.

"What's going on? Did something happen?" Worry put a slight edge in the prince's voice.

"Estel disappeared a week ago in the dead of night." Elrohir shook his head in despair as he explained to Legolas what they knew. "He had just come home that very evening, weary and ready to stay home with us for a while. That night a well trained intruder managed to break into the estate and take Aragorn with him." Elrohir steeled his jaw. It was his home, a place where no such thing should have happened. "It had also begun to rain hard, washing away any clue we might have gotten as to where he was taken. We left to find you as soon as we could, knowing that you track that ranger a lot better than we can.

"Something else a bit interesting that we found was that when we were getting our horses ready we discovered Aragorn's stallion missing. His stall door had been torn off its hinges and there were hoof marks all around the latch. I guess it's pretty safe to say he didn't disappear to serve Estel as a mount, but that he's trying to follow him. But for the life of me, I can't imagine how that horse could find him. All we have as any clue to why he was taken is a very brief letter left on his pillow addressed to us, and no idea where he is." Elrohir reached into one pocket and pulled out the weathered piece of paper for Legolas to read.

All was silent save the pounding of hooves on the ground as two horses were raced to the palace of Mirkwood. Legolas read the letter silently, his worry turning to fear as he took in the hate-filled words.

Handing the letter back, he looked at Elrohir carefully. "Who is this?"

Elrohir shut his eyes for a moment, searching for an answer to the simple question. Or at least, what should have been a simple question. Tightening his grip on the mane in his hands, he clucked softly to his horse and said simply, "One who hates us." He kept his eyes trained forward, not responding to the confused look Legolas was giving him in return. "'Tis a long story my friend, one I do not wish to tell just now."

Breaking his gaze away from the growing view of Mirkwood's palace walls, he looked at the prince pleadingly. "Will you help us look for Estel?"

"Of course I will. Just let me clear it with a few people. My father will not be pleased, for I just returned home this morning." Elrohir and Elladan dropped the prince off at the palace's great front doors with the urge to hurry.

Several minutes later, three riders and three horses left, disappearing into the dark forests.

§§§

It was getting cold.

There was something soft below him, if not entirely comfortable. He shifted irritably as consciousness drew him back to the lands of the living.

He quickly discovered that he had been bound upright against a wooden pole, sitting in fresh mud. Aragorn shook his head, expelling the last of the drug-induced fog from his mind. Where was he?

It was quite dark still, but over the tips of the trees he could see the faint light of a coming sunrise appearing over the top of the mountains. He was cold, but not freezing, and surprisingly he found himself to be almost unharmed, except for a bruise across his temple. But not free.

What happened? What was he doing here? Aragorn strained to remember what had happened, what he had missed. It all came back in a slow, but unwelcome rush.

An open window...

Unable to sleep...

Growing feelings of fear...

An intruder! Yes, someone had sprung the latch to his large window and overpowered him. Someone had managed to break into Rivendell! He could not recall much of what happened after he was taken, only that it had begun to rain, and as soon as they could stop long enough the hunter had given him something... and his memory ended there. The next thing he could remember was waking up to several beings walking around him and someone again binding his hands before he blacked out again.

Irritation at his own weakness of being unable to protect himself made Aragorn frown and glare at an invisible being. How could he have let this happen? Being so tired was no excuse, for he knew that long before it happened he felt that he had to get out of his room. The urge had been desperate, but he had given it no heed. It was entirely his fault. Then his eyes widened as he looked around, the dawn's coming light giving him the detail he needed to understand where he was.

The camp he was in was quite small. Only about five small tents circled the clearing as protection from the rain that had fallen last night. Looking to his right, Aragorn could see several horses tied to stakes and sleeping on their feet. That explained the tents - they were more there to keep the horses in the clearing than anything else it seemed. Then looking to his left, he soon discovered he was not alone.

He was sitting side-by-side with a young boy, just outside a strangely made lean-to of hides. Aragorn could hear no one, and the boy next to him was apparently asleep. He was very young still, with hardening features that made Aragorn guess that he was about fifteen. He had long dark hair that was quite ruffled and fell in his eyes in an almost unnatural way, as if he never, ever pushed it out of his face. He was dressed in a simple-spun tunic and worn leggings that showed many signs of labor, with black boots that looked scruffy and old. Though young he had a sturdy strong build, and if he had been standing up Aragorn guessed he would come up to at least his shoulder, about five and a half feet tall to his own six feet.

Aragorn was suddenly torn out of his musings when a tall being exited one tent and walked soundlessly to the horses. Three others soon joined him. Their sudden presence gave Aragorn a start, for he had been expecting no such beings. He knew right away that they were elves, for their manner of dress and pointed ears was a dead giveaway for one who had grown up with those of their kind. But what struck Aragorn the most was how they moved. Completely silent! At home he had at least become familiar with picking up some soft noise, no matter how small, but now... why, he could have mistaken them for a gentle wind through the trees and given it no other thought. It was as if they weren't even walking on the ground, for they left behind hardly an impression on the wet forest floor at all, a mark that even a ranger would have serious trouble reading. Their movements were swift and relaxed as they worked, gathering up lean-to makings and binding them to their horses' backs, but never did they reveal a hint of harness for their beasts. The horses at least made noise and left marks of their hooves in the mud. In minutes the four elves had picked the camp clean and were joined by two others.

So intent was he in watching these wood-elves that he didn't even realize that the boy next to him had woken up. But as he turned his head to his left again he discovered the boy staring at him and jumped in surprise. The boy didn't move.

Aragorn stared back. The boy didn't flinch or look away. He just stared at Aragorn, but it didn't really look as though he were really seeing him.

Aragorn lifted one eyebrow in confusion. What was he doing? Long tangled hair fell into the boy's face, but it did not hide the boy's piercing gaze that seemed to be focused on nothing at all. And then instantly Aragorn knew why. Focusing on the boy's grey eyes, he could find no pupil. The boy was blind.

Relaxing somewhat under the boy's deadened gaze, Aragorn tried to talk to him. "Hello?" His attentive voice sought out an answer. "Excuse me?"

There was no response whatsoever from the boy.

"Don't talk to him!" A new voice cut into the conversational question, making Aragorn jump again. Having grown quickly accustomed to the ultimate silence of the wood-elves, he had never expected one of them to utter words so loud. He sprang to attention as one of the elves walked to him, the being's dark eyes angry.

"That boy hasn't spoken in years. And I'd suggest that if you want to keep your tongue, you keep your mouth shut as well!" The elf unsheathed a long knife from off his belt, pointing the glinting blade at the man. "Nothing would give me more pleasure than to remove it right now, so don't give me a reason to."

Aragorn looked up fiercely at the elf with his silver eyes growing cold and hard, revealing his defiance. He may have been a prisoner, that much he knew about his situation if not more, but he had no reason to listen to or respect this elf. Why was the elf threatening him so quickly anyway? But knowing that lashing back would only get him in trouble, he stilled his quivering tongue, holding back the easy retort.

"You are now a prisoner under the leadership of Lord Ralorn," the elf shot at the disbelieving look Aragorn was giving him. "You were taken specifically to serve the purpose of the Master. You do as is desired of you and you may survive. Any disobedience will be taken care of by me. Understand, human?"

The word 'human' was spit out with distain. Aragorn knew he was in deep trouble by the tone alone. What would this elf, Ralorn, want with him? Confusion bit his insides, but firm stubbornness clenched his fighting spirit. He was a prisoner, but he was not one to back down and be forced to kiss the dirt nearly so easily. He was no whimpering coward. These elves would know it before the end; that he promised himself.

"Mayroniel!" A deeper voice called to the elf that held the knife from one of the horses. "Cut the prisoners loose and give the man some boots. I'm not going to waste good horses with double riders, but he's got to be able to walk when we get to town. Let him run behind. We need to get to Ilmgalad before the sun gets too high, and I don't want to be followed too quickly!"

"Yes, my Lord Ralorn." Shooting a glare at the man as he walked toward the boy, Mayroniel cut the boy loose and pulled him roughly to his feet. Aragorn watched the boy bit his lip in frustration at being hauled like a cow, but Aragorn couldn't help but shake the feeling that the boy was watching... or at least listening for him, even glancing his way before following Mayroniel.

Human... the word was like a curse. It was something he had learned to deal with when working against high-minded elves, but now it was spoken with deeply rooted contempt. Aragorn twisted his hands around in his bonds, trying to ease the cutting bite of the twine. Then suddenly, the fingers of his right hand touched a feel of hard metal on his left first finger.

The Ring of Barahir!

If he really was in a situation he believed he was in, what would they do to him if they found such a treasure in his possession? Surely they would take it, knowing of its value if not its story, and one of the few remaining heirlooms of his family would be forever lost. He had to hide it. Swiftly he slipped the silver ring off his left forefinger and held it fast in his grip. It wasn't a moment too soon.

Mayroniel returned moments later for him, treating him no better than the boy. Aragorn was yanked to his feet and an old pair of boots was thrown into his hands. "Put them on," Mayroniel hissed. "You're going to be expected to keep up. You fall, you get dragged. Understand?"

"How far are we going?" Aragorn pulled the rough leather boots onto his feet, glad that he was being graced with the small comfort. He was careful while tying the boots, trying not to reveal the ring in his hands as Mayroniel stood over him. When he was done, he stood and gripped both hands tightly, so as to not let on that one of his hands held something of value. He shuddered slightly, but was able to move freely.

Mayroniel snorted. The ranger would not remember the distance they had already come, since the drug he had been put out with had left him unconscious for a few days. "Two hundred miles through the Misty Mountains. Our first stop along the way is Ilmgalad, a small trading town northeast of here. I hope you like to run," Mayroniel sneered at the man as he tied a length of rope between Aragorn's hands and his own horse's neck, ignoring the stunned look on the ranger's face. "You'll know how before this trip is over."

When Mayroniel turned his back to the ranger, Aragorn quickly popped the ring into his mouth.

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It took Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir almost three days to get through the High Pass and make it back to the wilds around Rivendell, most of the journey through heavy rain. They didn't stop at Imladris, rather immediately began to search and track for any trace of the missing ranger. It was annoyingly slow and unbearably miserable to search through the lands that gave no clue to what they sought. For two days they worked their way away from Rivendell, taking the direction that was most likely for a quick escape and prayed to the Valar that they were correct. But now several miles from Rivendell, they were all beginning to doubt.

Finally, just when Legolas was about to throw up his hands in utter frustration at finding absolutely nothing, a peculiar mark on the ground made him stop and stare. Reaching forward and brushing away the few leaves that had fluttered over it, he identified it to be a hoof mark. Pressing his hand gently against the side of the indent in the drying mud, he discovered the mark to be little more than a week old, but immediately he knew where it was from and where it could lead.

"Elladan! Elrohir! Over here!" the prince called over to the twins who were on either side of him and working much the same way, but dropped whatever each was doing and ran to where he stood.

After pointing out the hoof mark and explaining what he had discovered and guessed, Legolas suddenly noticed another mark several feet away and in plain view. Rushing forward with the twins at his heels the three of them found another hoof mark, and close by it, an imprint of a boot.

The sight of it made them all freeze for a moment. No doubt about it now, this must be the right way, and Aragorn had been forced to run rather than ride.

"I think we've discovered the trail," Legolas said, once more looking forward for more tracks. "But where could it lead?"

"There are several small villages and towns that cover pieces of the Wilds and the sides of the Misty Mountains," Elrohir informed the prince, pausing only a moment to whistle for his horse. "Most likely a trading town close by would be the first stop, since we can readily guess that Ralorn is some kind of a slave trader."

"There are more tracks..." Elladan was looking ahead with the prince, taking several steps until he stopped by a rather large rotting log and inspected the side of it. After a careful examination, he called over to the others. "Come here and tell me what this looks like to you."

Elrohir and Legolas both bent down next to the log and like Elladan let their eyes rove over the chipping, insect-eaten surface. Off the left side there was a sharp indent about the length and width of a man's fingers, and the cracks around it suggested that the mark was not a spot worn with age, but placed there fast and hard.

Legolas jumped over the log and hunted the ground quickly and lightly. The twins watched him stop a few feet away, his hands on the ground.

Skid marks marred the drying surface of the dirt ground, and not from any animal, but from a man most obviously. A dark stain covered the edge of it farthest from the log, and when Legolas pressed his fingertips against the ground and brought the moisture to his nose, he stiffened.

"Blood." He turned around and looked at the twins. "It's blood."

Elladan pressed his lips into a tight line before quickly turning around to walk back to the horses, the obedient animals coming to them when Elrohir had whistled. Elrohir gave the prince a firm, but undeniably closed look before following his brother. Legolas understood the silence and did not take it to heart. The twins were as worried as he.

The trail was becoming clearer now as they entered the newer section of the journey of what they sought had taken, and before long the three of them were following the marks on the ground for another good mile through the forests that grew steadily wilder. Much to their dismay, they never found another boot mark, nor given any sign that Aragorn was with this group. What did became clear was that the horses were moving faster now, the marks on the ground more spread apart.

Elrohir was riding in front, and when he let his eyes look up he called back to the others. "We approach a town! It is quite small, but I can see many beings wandering through it. I do not recall seeing such a place before. Elladan, do you know what this town is?"

"Nay, I don't, but here's one thing I do know. Something reeks of death around here! We must be near an old carcass."

Surprised at the response, Elrohir turned around to look at his twin but could not help but agree with him. Something close by did indeed smell horrible, and it was making them all slightly sick as they drew nearer. The scent of raw flesh that had been in the sun far too long was taking away from the normally fresh mountain air.

Legolas saw it first. "Over there!" he pointed over to their left. "It's a horse! Taken down with a bow from the looks of it." Trying to ignore the smell the dead carcass gave off; Legolas nudged his horse closer, calling back to the twins as he did so. "Shot in the rump, probably to bring the poor beast down. Her throat's been slit too." Legolas shuddered slightly at the sight and wheeled his mount around back to the twins.

"She has two broken legs, most likely broken in the fall, and someone quickly ended her life because of it. But I'm surprised that no one has removed it, it's not safe to leave her there."

"Do you think he had anything to do with Aragorn?"

"I don't know. It is possible I suppose, but I have not the gift of the rangers to read signs so well and the marks on the ground are confusing to me." Legolas shook his head. If he ever got the chance he mentally swore he would watch Aragorn more carefully when the man was tracking. The young ranger had quite the talent for it, more so than even those that taught him the skill. "It looks like there was some kind of a struggle between several people, but more than that I cannot say. Other tracks mix everything up." Shaking his head, he gestured to the others toward the little town. "Let's get away to a place that does not stink and see what we can find in this town."

Elladan and Elrohir were still angry and oddly stern, but they nodded their consent to the prince and followed him to the small trading town.

_Keep running..._

_Don't stop... look out for that log!_

He couldn't lift his stiff legs that high! He was moving far too fast for that, and after running like the wind behind a horse for nearly two days had deadened his senses. Aragorn's foot caught the edge of the rotting wood, flew right over the log and slammed down to his knees. Unfortunately he did not stop so easy. The fall quickly resulted in his hands being yanked forward so fast he flew forward a few more feet because the horse he was tied to had not stopped. His momentum was far too great to pause long enough for him to regain his footing, and he again landed hard on the ground again, the forest floor ripping into his leggings.

"Get back up!" A very familiar voice barked out angrily as the horse Aragorn was bound to came to an abrupt stop. Mayroniel got his mount under control and turned around to yell at the man. Aragorn struggled to his knees, biting his lip as he straightened out his legs. With his head down still, he spit Barahir out of his mouth and again held the ring in his firm, if not shaking grasp. He had badly ripped the skin on his kneecaps, and they were both bleeding rather badly as he walked forward.

Mayroniel swore under his breath as he saw the rents in the ranger's leggings and the growing stain of blood. Had it been him in charge, he would have made the man continue the last mile and a half at a run, but Ralorn had told him that Aragorn needed to be able to stand and walk when they reached Ilmgalad. Muttering to himself coldly, he gestured Aragorn to come closer.

Aragorn shuddered in pain and annoyance as the elf motioned him forward, but did as he was told. Without warning Mayroniel lifted him up by the scruff of his tunic and threw him like a sack over the horse's shoulders. Holding him in place and giving no chance to shift position, Mayroniel kicked his stallion into a run, leaving Aragorn to struggle to stay put over the powerful churning legs below him.

The last mile was a nightmare. It was good that Aragorn had chosen to put his silver ring back into his hand, for whether it was the location or just Mayroniel's mood, they seemed to go over, pop through and dart around any possibly contrived obstacle the dense forest had to offer. Mayroniel hardly held onto the man, leaving Aragorn to fight for his life or tumble beneath the pounding hooves. There was no way he could have kept his mouth shut and the ring safe. The only mercy Aragorn received from Mayroniel was that the elf urged his stallion to go faster, making the ride much shorter than it would have been had Aragorn been running. Despite all this, it still remained known as one of the more horrifying rides the man had ever been forced to endure.

One the outskirts of the small town Mayroniel slowed his stallion to a walk, and as soon as possible his heavy gloved hand wrapped around Aragorn's shoulder and shoved him off the horse's shoulders, letting him fall unexpectedly to the hard packed earth.

Aragorn hit the ground harder than he would have liked, but managed not to fall completely by landing on his feet in a half kneel position, his knees ringing slightly. Mayroniel had already nudged his stallion ahead of the man and missed the glare Aragorn graced him with. The man was tired, a little injured, and still very confused about why he had been attacked in Rivendell of all places, his home being the last he would have suspected. What had he done to Mayroniel to earn his hate?

If his future was going to have Mayroniel in it for a time, their relationship would only grow darker with hatred, of that the young ranger was sure.

The rope that bound his hands jerked and Aragorn was forced to fall in step after Mayroniel and his stallion, but he felt like a goat, following aimlesslyas he was. His knees spoke out in warning, making Aragorn wince for a few steps until he could get the feeling under control. The other elves had caught up to him now, and he was quickly surrounded on all sides.

Had he looked behind him he would have seen another pair of eyes watching him. Or at least looked as though they were watching him.

Ralorn caught up with Mayroniel and slowed his own stallion to fall in step with his assistant's. "When we get inside, I want the man and the boy kept with the horses. Silore is supposed to meet us here by nightfall with the rest of the slaves. I don't want either of them sold, understand?"

"Yes, Lord Ralorn," one of the guards said submissively.

As they walked, Aragorn wondered about the two elves in front of him. Why did Mayroniel even listen to Ralorn? Mayroniel was certainly the more ruthless of the two, but as he walked and kept his eyes trained to Ralorn's back, he began to sense something different.

Dread.

Where Mayroniel was openly cruel Ralorn seemed to claim an intense, raw energy that spoke of much hidden anger. Mayroniel made it very clear that he hated the man, making it easy for Aragorn to expect what kind of treatment he would get from him, but Ralorn had not hinted yet as to what he wanted. The quiet of the one who had organized to take him away was making him worry about what he could do. What was he supposed to expect from Ralorn? It was just the feeling around the elf, it made Aragorn wince. It radiated power, authority, and control. The ranger began to fear the future with this being without really knowing why.


	4. The Stranger

Chapter 3

**The Stranger**

Cold rain slid down hard against the dozens of people that stood in the large arena, making the air biting and harsh.

Of the many slaves, only a few remained, forced to watch their family and friends, their comrades, be pulled away from their sight and out of their lives. The young ranger watched as eyes wandered mournfully, downcast heads no longer feeling the rush of the wind and the pelting of the rain as they burrowed away from more than just the cold.

Aragorn leaned his head back against the cold, rain-soaked wall behind him. Shutting his eyes he tried to block out the horrible pain he could hear that echoed and rippled though the air of the slaver's arena, the forlorn calls of so many broken hearts. Anger filled him at the same time. The utter heartlessness of slave-trading tore at him.

He and the young boy had been separated from the large group of slaves that Ralorn had acquired and left alone. Another elf, whose name Aragorn quickly found out was Silore, had come the night of the ranger's first day in Ilmgalad, bringing with him a few dozen young men and women that bore marks of enslavement. For a short while Aragorn and the blind boy had been bound with the lot of them, until Ralorn discovered them and ordered Mayroniel to get them away from the selling ring.

The two of them were dumped in one corner with the horses, chained to the wall and quickly forgotten. As soon as they were left alone, the ranger quickly stuffed his ring into the pocket of his tunic, safe from prying eyes.

Aragorn had quickly gained a complete disregard for his own treatment and rather focused on that of the teenager; when he discovered that though the boy was blind, it was not much of a handicap. The young man could sense movement and recognize voices faster than Aragorn could register what was happening. Before they had been left alone, the ranger witnessed a bit of the boy's unbreakable spirit. While the guard tried to clap a metal ring about the boy's wrist, Aragorn watched the sightless eyes narrow, and before anyone could react the boy's elbow had made swift contact with his guard's nose. The elf yelped at the sudden pain and slapped the teenager upside the head, but the young one had already won. Blood was dripping from the injured nose and he knew it.

His sight may have been dead, but he was not, and those that handled the blind boy knew of his cold defiance. The young man never moved willingly or easily, and his guards were having quite a time roughhousing with the fighting spirit of the teenager. They beat him to keep him under control, and never gave him a name. It was always "boy," and the tone was always mocking. The young teenager would steel his jaw every time it was uttered; in his mind the name he had been pinned with was worse than any swear word his guards had ever said about him.

Once they had been left alone, Aragorn turned to face the young man. With the guards gone the fighting fire had left his eyes and the old, chilled look had returned, looking the same as when Aragorn had first seen him.

Wanting to talk to him, but remembering that neither he nor anyone else knew the boy's name, and the way the teenager had reacted to being called "boy" had not been of the best, Aragorn decided to call him something else when the time was right. Sitting there silently, he began to consider what he could call him, a name that the boy would respond to.

While thinking about it, understanding and respecting the distance that the young man placed between himself and everyone around him, Aragorn decided to try and gain a bond of trust between himself and the teenager. So softly, almost unable to be heard, he began to sing in a low but clear voice.

Shutting his eyes and leaning back farther, Aragorn relaxed completely against the wall and let the melody full of life and light flow from his lips, such a strange contrast to the mood of the small slave arena. As he sung, the dull aching of the overwhelming pleas began to disappear and the memories of home began to again soften his heart. Smiling for the first time since his capture, he let his song in the elven tongue grow steadily louder until it could reach all the ears close around him.

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_Silivren penna míriel . . . ._

The horses around him perked up at the sound of the Grey Tongue, the weariness in their limbs seemed to lose its fire and the seven of them turned their heads toward the ranger. The soothing elvish rolled around their hearing and all of them visibly relaxed, letting the song still whatever stiffness of heart they had received. Peace thrummed along with the soft patter of the rain, and all manner of uneasiness was forgotten.

_O menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-díriel_

_O galadhremmin ennorath . . ._

The horses were not the only ones close by that were affected by Aragorn's song and the softness of the words spoken. Right in the middle of his singing Aragorn opened his eyes a slit and chanced a look at the young teenager next to him. To his surprise, the boy was looking vaguely in his direction, and a small smile had touched his face.

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_Nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

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The day was drawing to a close and many of the merchants and slaves had left the arena, searching either for better luck on another day or merely some place to sleep, protected from the small storm. Ralorn sighed and turned back toward the entrance of the arena. Though his day had been successful and most of his slaves sold, he had hoped to get rid of them all that very day so he could continue his journey home. The trip there was not an easy one and would take many days to get there safely, and with the weather looking as it did now, Ralorn wanted to get out of Ilmgalad quickly to make the trek as easy as possible.

Another lone rider entered the arena on horseback, and Ralorn turned to watch him quietly. The rider handled his mount with ease, the animal tame and willing beneath him. Like nearly everyone else on this dreary, rainy day, he was clad in a dark cloak and his face half-hidden under a large hood. He used neither bit nor bridle for his mount, and he himself carried little with him.

He dismounted from his white horse, patted the great animal on the neck and whispered a few inaudible words to it before moving toward Ralorn. His steps were strong as he neared the slave trader, pushing back his hood just enough to reveal his face as he did so. Ralorn could see the fair features clearly the young, unhardened edges that framed grey eyes, a straight nose, and a small mouth. His dark brown-black hair was bound away from his face in the style of an elven rider, and his pointed ears made it easy to bind him to such a race. Ralorn was struck by how young the rider looked, almost feminine if one would be so bold, and yet carried himself no less than that of his men.

When the rider made it to Ralorn, he greeted the leader and gave a slight bow. "Mae govannen, slave-trader. What do you bring to the market? Slaves only?" His voice was light and clear.

"Slaves only. What is your interest?" Ralorn watched the stranger look over the few slaves that remained, standing chained in a row. Taking in the sight of them in moments, he turned back to Ralorn, his face expressionless.

"I'm only searching. My name is Arahil. I come looking for strong work. I have not seen you before in these parts. Where did you travel before coming here? You are Ralorn, are you not?"

"Aye, I am Ralorn, and I come here to revisit the lands of my youth and those I once knew." A strange glint entered Ralorn's eyes as he said so, but before Arahil could confirm its existence, it was gone. "You say you are looking for work? Why? You look far too young to be traveling." He quickly took the chance to jest the elf.

He may as well have said Arahil was too young and immature to be out on his own, and the young elf rider did not take the jest at his youthful age lightly. "I may be young to you, Master Ralorn," he said with a clenched jaw, "but I know much of warfare and horses. You yourself are a master of such. So am I."

"You?" Ralorn shot the elf a surprised glance. "But you are little more than a child! What could you possibly know about horsemanship, weapons, or slave trading that I do not already know?"

Arahil grew silent, thinking through the losing battle. He had been seeking Ralorn for a while now, wanting to join his warriors. Then suddenly, a light of revelation entered Arahil's eyes, a devious plan forming to earn him the spot he desired.

"Oh, I see," Arahil said loudly as Ralorn turned away from him. "So you're afraid that I may know something you don't?"

Ralorn stopped dead in his tracks. His pride had been injured, and his fighting side won over his calm demeanor. He turned around swiftly.

Arahil was waving him off. "Don't worry about it. I know you're busy, but I never thought you'd back away from my challenge."

Ralorn stomped back over to the reckless rider. "I fear no one! But I do not need to prove my skill to you!"

"No, you don't," Arahil said evenly, "But I want to prove my skill to you."

Ralorn stopped again. He had seen the way Arahil had handled his horse, and despite everything else, he had spirit. Spirit that Ralorn knew if he harnessed the right way, Arahil would become a valuable tool for his plans for revenge.

He finally nodded. "Name your challenge, rider."

"I challenge you to a race through the forest," Arahil stated, "to the river one league away."

Ralorn could see the insane brilliancy of it. It had been raining for the past two days, making the ground slick and muddy, and the nearby forest in the opposite direction from whence they came was full of fallen logs and rocks. To make it though such a place under such conditions uninjured - and alive - would prove impressive skill indeed.

"Mayroniel!" Ralorn barked at his assistant without breaking his gaze from Arahil, who stared steadily back. "Bring my horse."

Mayroniel nodded without question and left to fetch Ralorn's stallion.

"I'll meet you at the edge of the forest in five minutes," Ralorn told the young rider before tuning away. "We'll see what kind of skill you possess."

Arahil was smiling as he returned to his horse's side. The white stallion snorted eagerly and tossed his head.

"Yes my friend, it looks like you'll get to show off your turns and jumps again. You feel up to it?"

The white stallion whinnied energetically and stamped his feet. Arahil laughed lightly.

"Good. Good, Asfaloth. Good." Asfaloth nudged his rider over to his side, urging the elf to mount so they could begin. Arahil1 mounted and turned Asfaloth toward the edge of the forest, just outside the arena they were in.

"We cannot fail them."

Arahil was ready and waiting when Ralorn came to the desired spot, his dark stallion behind him. Just outside the city walls the forest thickened out in twisting dangerous paths, tempting riders eager to prove themselves.

Centuries before, a terrible storm had raged through the once beautiful forest, leaving the land stripped and desolate in its wake. It took many years for the forest to heal itself, but as it did so, it overgrew the destroyed trees and fallen boulders, bringing new life but terrible danger. The ground was left uneven and rough, the land irregularly shaped, and lying in wait were the countless trees and rocks hidden under the new undergrowth. Traps and tricks lay around every possible turn, every corner. It was wonderful to explore and an excellent place for hunting game, but quite unwise to bring pack animals in, especially horses. The chances of making it to the river that lay but a few miles in unharmed were quite slim using animals, and at a gallop - the attempt was considered the works of a madman eager for death.

Ralorn mounted his stallion and cantered him over to where Arahil sat in his white horse. A long line had been drawn in the dirt with a stick, the official 'starting line.' Passerby's stared - some walked on shaking their heads, while others called out to them, asking if they should come look for the bodies later. Both were ignored.

"I shall watch you carefully...if you can keep up with me," Ralorn told the younger elf next to him as they got ready.

Arahil was unmoved by the taunt. "I look forward to seeing your skill." The tiny hint of sarcasm was not lost on the other and it made Ralorn frown in annoyance. Arrogant little whelp. He was going to put this young one right in his spot.

"All right, let's get on with it. Ready?" Arahil responded by leaning forward, arching his body to match the angle of his horse's neck. "Three, two, one... GO!"

Both horses were kicked and the animals cried aloud, leaping forward. Long strides ate up the ground, closing in on the edge of the forest.

Directing Asfaloth to a fallen limb, Arahil squeezed hard with his legs and lifted off the white horse's back, giving the animal the full ability to jump. Asfaloth responded and gathered his legs under him, leaping up and forward, soaring over the log as if it were only a pile of leaves. They landed evenly and Asfaloth bolted, kicking up mud as he went.

A descendent of a rich bloodline of war-horses, Asfaloth had been born a fearless fighter. Standing over five and a half feet at the shoulder he towered over the other creatures around him, and with a light, muscle-laid wiry frame it made it easy to take the most impossible jumps and turns at neck-breaking speed. Unmatched in his agility, ever loyal at heart, Arahil's only traveling companion and eternal friend, he was a greatheart tried and found worthy of whatever he went up against.

Though Ralorn knew nothing of the lineage of the horse, or of the rider for that matter, he could still recognize skill when he saw it. The powerful, yet nimble strides of the horse and the sure hand of the rider that guided him was a perfect match. His own stallion was fast and wiry as well, but not nearly in league with that of the white horse. Ralorn followed the white stallion closely, watching both horse and rider perform feats he thought unmatched.

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The ground was slippery and difficult to run on. It took several strides for Asfaloth to get used to the unknown footing on the ground. Arahil grit his teeth and watched the ground carefully, his elven sight granting him the help he needed. With his eyes, hands, and legs, he directed Asfaloth carefully though the darkening forest.

The first several hundred feet weren't too bad, but needed to be watched carefully by both horse and rider. The ground was getting slicker as they got farther in, as the sun showed her face less here, and puddles of water were everywhere. Asfaloth was already turning a dull grey color up to his knees.

They both could see another dark rider off to their right side, keeping up with the white stallion despite the muddy forest floor. Arahil watched them carefully out of the corner of his eye, but he wasn't prepared when Ralorn suddenly swerved to them, cutting them off.

Asfaloth roared at the black stallion and his rider, angry that they had made him falter on the uneven ground. Shaking his head he regained his old speed in a moments notice, following Ralorn closely. Baring his teeth and snorting, he caught up to them and bit the black stallion hard, right on the rump.

The stallion jumped and cried out at the sudden pain, jumping forward and off to the side, taking a different path than what was originally intended. As they galloped away, Arahil could have sworn he could hear Asfaloth laughing as he listened to his oppressor whimper loudly as he escaped the white stallion's teeth. Nickering in pleasure, Asfaloth snorted and again focused on the awkward route ahead of him.

Suddenly much faster than Arahil thought it could happen, Asfaloth's churning hooves discovered a long, slick, shallow mud hole. With a neigh of surprise and a small cry of shock from his rider the stallion slid forward far too fast and nearly lost his balance, heading straight for a huge boulder that loomed only feet away, stuck firmly in the ground. Thick trees shrouded either side, cutting off any escape.

Yet whether by luck or pure terror, Asfaloth managed to gain control over his feet just before crashing into the boulder that would have most certainly broken his legs, and at a whispered word of encouragement from Arahil the stallion again leapt, popping right over the boulder like a cat. His body arched rather well for being caught off guard like he was, and he gracefully stretched out his legs, soaring over the boulder.

Hardly a breath later Arahil realized it was a big mistake.

There was no ground to greet them. The boulder had been large enough length-wise to hide a deep crevice behind it; a dried up stream with several sharp rocks layering its base. Arahil closed his eyes and gripped the mane in his hands tightly, the wind whistling in his ears as he spoke desperately into the white horse's ears, of which were turned back to him, listening for commands. Then, as if in slow motion, he felt the horse below him allow the earth to pull them both down to what looked like certain doom.

'_No, not so soon! We cannot be defeated this quickly!' _Arahil cringed as he felt Asfaloth's front legs slam hard against the side of the stream, bracing himself for the swift plummet into the rocks. But as he did so, instead of falling forward and being flung from his stallion's back like he expected, they were suddenly flying upward. Asfaloth had managed to land with his forelegs on a stable patch of land, and letting his hind legs follow swiftly to land in the same spot he had let his adrenaline-powered muscles push himself back into the air. He propelled them both toward the other side of the stream, gliding over a distance of only about seven feet.

Asfaloth touched ground on the opposite side and scrambled up the small hill, showering mud, rocks, and plants down into the dead stream as he went. Making it up to level ground the stallion popped though the bordering trees, came to an abrupt stop and reared high for a moment. He neighed his pleasure before again leaping into a gallop.

Arahil was more than surprised. Though he knew of his horse's talent he had never expected the stallion to react so quickly and smoothly. Asfaloth was ignoring his attempts to stop him for fear that the horse was injured, and all Arahil could do now was hold on and let him run.

Survival mode calmed and careful training kicked in - before long Asfaloth had turned into a ghost, a magical beast that shunned every other living thing but the one that rode atop his back. If anyone ever thought Asfaloth was out of the league of Arahil, they were sorely wrong. The two worked together perfectly. They needed each other; for Asfaloth only did his best with Arahil on his back - Arahil in charge. Stallion and elf were trained onto one another, listening to the others' thoughts it seemed. Arahil knew of his stallion's abilities well, but never before had he seen the great animal perform like he did now, as if Asfaloth had recognized the desperate need for Arahil to prove himself. Using the elf's hands, legs, and words as keys, the white giant was prepared for any obstacle that they came up against.

Long graceful strides were eating up the distance, zigzagging around trees and running past boulders with a scarcely found talent. Some of the turns were so sharp it looked as though the horse had to lay down on his side and float a foot above the ground while running at a mind-blurring speed, he and his rider a white and black flash - there one moment and gone the next, fading to nothing in a blink of an eye. They had become one in the forest's eyes.

Asfaloth's hooves dug into the ground sharply, leaving behind large fist-sized holes and flinging up loose mud behind him, his legs stretching and gathering beneath the long slender body, neck thrust forward and head out, eyes bright and nostrils wide in excitement. He did not hesitate as Arahil directed him through the forest, defying all thought in his quick and precise twists that were previously thought almost impossible.

Arahil had lifted his lithe body off the horse's back and squeezed hard with his legs, allowing the animal complete control over speed as he hunched low over the long proud neck, his hands that gripped the soft flowing mane moving with the strides of the horse - Arahil pushing his hands forward when the stallion's neck thrust straight and flat, pulling his hands back when the stallion's head fell back and up, creating an ever moving circle at the sides of the white neck that both encouraged the horse and calmed the rider.

They were back where they needed to be, entering a world that was so familiar and dear to them, for a moment they felt invincible and ready to touch the stars if they so wished. Asfaloth neighed and Arahil whooped, the sounds of victory echoing through the dark forest.

Then out in front of them the forest seemed to open up and they entered a long stretch of barren land, quickly identified as water-softened boulders that served its purpose as the ground. With no thick trees to cover and hide it, the large rocky floor was only a little wet and without mud. It only lasted about fifty feet before taking a sudden downward drop at the bottom the desired river lay in waiting. If possible, Asfaloth ran even faster, needing no urging from his master and did not stop as though his life depended on it.

With a crack and a snort, the powerful white stallion ran to the edge and his feet left the ground - they were flying again. Arahil leaned back until he was straight over the horse's back, one arm raised high over his head. His hood was thrown back and his long braided tresses seemed frozen in mid air. His eyes were alight and his smile wide - gripping the long mane tightly with one hand he leaned back farther so the stallion would not have to deal with the extra weight at his head, nearly lying down flat on the horse's rump. He was gripping tightly with his legs as Asfaloth again slammed down to the ground, leaving hoof marks deep in the drying mud of the cliff. Immediately he began to gallop downward, though his strides remained graceful and controlled. The clouds had lessened and the sun was peeking through the heavy blanket that remained.

Asfaloth crashed into the underbrush, snapping smaller trees and plants as he went, dodging boulders and leaping over fallen logs. There seemed to be no end of the mountain growth, and the irregularly shaped ground made it very difficult indeed. Several times Arahil feared the white stallion would trip and fall, a sure death for them both. He could feel the heavy sweat that now coated the stallion's body through his leggings, and Asfaloth's breathing was becoming slow and deep. But it was all oddly surreal, watching the horse take a diagonal, almost vertical decent down the side of the cliff, and not once hear or feel a foot placed wrong.

After a distance of many thousands of strides, Asfaloth reached the bottom, finally regaining his normal pace on level ground. They were so close to the river, and the sound of water made the weary stallion run faster toward its cool rushing.

Seconds later the silence was broken as Asfaloth leapt and plunged into the water of the river, forgetting for a moment that he still had a rider on his back. Luckily the river was only about four feet deep and Arahil managed to hang on, relaxing on his horse's neck as the stallion came to a full stop.

Stroking the animal comfortingly on the side, Arahil slid of the sweat-marred back and swam next to Asfaloth, watching the horse drink his fill of the sweet river water. Treading water, Arahil pushed handfuls of water over the horse's back several times before abandoning the stallion to his pleasure. Pulling himself out of the river and letting the horse play, Arahil shook himself off and stood next to the river's edge, waiting for some sign of Ralorn and the black stallion.

Looking back at Asfaloth, Arahil had to smile. They had done it. Even if they hadn't won Ralorn would have no reason not to take him on. The race had proven both himself and the stallion's worth in ability.

Briefly his sharp ears heard the sound of pounding hooves, and in a moment Arahil saw Ralorn racing down the side of the cliff on a side much less steep than the one they had taken, he noted with a smile. The change in course earlier on had given them a much easier path to take, if not longer. The young elf would never forget the look Ralorn gave him as the elder rode up to his side and stopped, his face surpassing all the looks of surprise and shock that Arahil had ever seen. The stern elf kept looking up at the long trail on the side of the cliff and the distinct line of broken plant life, then back at the young elf and his horse.

Ralorn couldn't believe it. Though he had taken a different route he had not missed some of the narrow escapes Arahil and Asfaloth had pulled, taking on one of the harshest paths through the forest that was hardly safe even on foot. And the ride down the side of the steep cliff... the achievement was nothing short of remarkable and praiseworthy. And though he would dearly love to say that the stallion had done all the work, he knew better. It took a very experienced rider to guide a horse though such danger; both horse and rider must match in skill. Shaking his head in disbelief and rolling his eyes slightly, Ralorn dismounted his black stallion and walked over to the nearly soaked younger elf.

Glancing over at the white stallion in the water, Ralorn watched the animal that had just lifted his head to stare back curiously, and even a bit protectively, when Ralorn looked at Arahil. With one look from Arahil, Asfaloth shook off the accusing look and left the water, stopping right behind Arahil and stared at the other elf with a look of mock disinterest.

"Beautiful," Ralorn murmured, watching the tall horse with a critical, but experienced eye. "He has a perfect build. I don't suppose you'd be willing to sell him, would you?"

The younger elf balked at the offer, but before he could even register what had happened Asfaloth stiffened and bit him hard on the shoulder. Arahil laughed as the stallion looked at him sternly and shook his head at Ralorn. "I think Asfaloth would kill me. Besides, he's my only friend in these wilds. I don't know what I'd do without him."

Ralorn sighed regretfully and shook his head again. "I've hardly seen such skill." Looking back over at Arahil, he held the steady gaze though inside he was kicking himself for not seeing it sooner and losing sorely. "You've proven yourself far more worthy than many I've seen. Still willing, I will grant you whatever position you desire among my men."

Arahil gave a small smile. "The honor belongs to the stallion as much as me, but I will accept the offer to ride with you for a time."

Both extending hands, they clasped each other's forearms in a gesture of acceptance. Ralorn's voice was firm and bold, neither smiling nor frowning. "Welcome to the Guard, Arahil."

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A lone guard entered the long since empty arena, walking quietly through the selling ring and over to the corner where the two slaves and several horses were waiting. The elf was tall and broad-shouldered for one so fair, and his hair was a dark reddish-blonde. But unlike most of the others he did not have a fierce haunted look in his eyes, but one of more firm seriousness. He stopped next to one of the horses, a tall buckskin mare, and led her toward the wall where Aragorn sat watching him.

Pulling a knife from his belt, he pushed Aragorn off to the side and severed the bonds that bound the man from behind. Aragorn's curiosity toward this elf changed to surprise. For the first time in nearly a week - though he didn't know the exact time range - he was free. But why?

"Come with me," the elf whispered, gesturing toward the buckskin mare. He pulled off his large cloak and covered the ranger with it, hiding the man from view. "Quickly."

Curious, Aragorn did as he was told. The elf mounted up behind him, and with a swift kick in the mare's sides, they bolted forward. Lone ears marked their passing, mournfully wishing they had not gone.

"Where are you taking me?" Aragorn whispered to the elf behind him as they left the arena and began to trot lightly through the rain-soaked alleyways. "Who are you?"

"My name is Valan," the elf whispered, his voice deep and musical. "And I'm taking you home, if we remain unnoticed."

"Home?" Aragorn's eyes widened slightly as he tried to turn his head to look at the fair being behind him, but Valan pushed his head back. "But how is this possible?"

"Quietly!" Valan whispered harshly, his voice firm but not angry as he began his story. "I have been in the service of Lord Ralorn for many years, and during that time his main goal was and has remained the desire to get revenge on the twin sons of Elrond. When he discovered you had been taken in as a brother and a son, it wounded him more than you know." They reached the open front doors and Valan urged the mare forward, toward the safety of the distant trees.

"He pushed many things aside and came back to this area of the northern lands and away from the Corsairs, of whom he has been working with for some time. He wants nothing more than to harm you in the cruelest way he can, and trust me; he has seen enough to make it worthwhile." Aragorn felt Valan wince slightly as he spoke, and much of the young man's fear began to radiate from the Firstborn's refusal to speak of it. "I cannot watch him torture you so, for though his ways are not unheard of he can make it count when he allows his assassin to take over. You need to beware of Mayroniel, for though he wouldn't do anything to you yet, he will be utterly ruthless when it comes to inflicting pain. Some of his ways are so painful on both mind and body you may end up taking your own life rather than endure the sight of him again, if you still have the strength to do so. I do not believe what Ralorn is doing now is right, and I'm going to prevent it if I can. Now be silent, we must get away from here."

They were passing silently by the edge of the dangerous forest, where in the distance they could see Mayroniel, Silore, and the other guards waiting for the returning riders, of whom were just returning. When Ralorn left the edge of the forest on his black stallion with another unfamiliar elf right behind him on a white horse, Valan swore under his breath and kicked the buckskin hard.

The mare leapt forward with a loud neigh, running fast toward the opposite forest, away from Ralorn and his men. Aragorn's heart was thudding wildly as Valan pushed the mare faster. There was no way Ralorn could have missed that cry.

He was right. Ralorn spotted them, and upon recognizing both the buckskin and her rider he kicked his own stallion into a gallop and raced after them. As he did so, Mayroniel and the other guards pursued on foot, yelling inaudibly as they went.

Pulling his cloak closely about him Aragorn squeezed hard with his legs and bent closer to the horse's neck, wondering why he was being rescued in a way completely unexpected and now looked as though it would fail. Valan pressed the mare to run her fastest and though she did her best, it was not nearly enough.

An arrow whistled through the air behind them and brushed by the mare's legs; she gave a little leap of surprise and dodged the other way. Valan began to direct her in a zigzag pattern so they would be a more difficult target.

Another arrow whizzed toward them and struck Valan in the leg. The elf groaned slightly but grit his teeth and did not stop or fall. One last arrow was launched and this time it flew true. It struck the mare in the rump and she fell with a grunt, collapsing into the underbrush and throwing both riders. The young ranger hit the ground hard but rolled over quickly, looking over at Valan who had landed a few feet away from him. But Aragorn didn't even have time to react before Valan suddenly too cried out as an arrow imbedded itself between his shoulder blades. He fell to the earth, moaning softly.

The mare had screamed when she landed right on her legs and was now whimpering in pain. Aragorn crawled closer to her on his way to Valan, his eyes locked with the pain-filled ones of the horse. Looking over the sweating body, he saw two legs that jutted out in odd angles. She had broken them both badly in the fall.

Ralorn arrived a moment later, his face furious but his eyes alight. He had not missed. Swinging his leg over his stallion's back he unsheathed a knife from his belt and walked over to the mare's side. He knew better than anyone else that the mare would be seriously crippled if allowed to live. With one quick move, he slit the mare's throat. The mare whinnied once, and then did not move again, her eyes turning grey and lifeless. She was gone.

Walking over to Valan's fallen form, Ralorn kicked the body hard in the ribs. Valan winced but managed to remain silent.

"I knew you were going to try something," Ralorn said angrily at Valan, his hands clenched into fists. "Ever since we left for the Northern lands."

Valan did not respond and closed his eyes, letting his head fall to the ground. Aragorn crawled over to him quickly and quietly when Ralorn looked up to his following men.

"I'm sorry," Valan whispered, turning pain-dulled eyes to the ranger. "I did try. Please beware of these elves, especially Mayroniel and Ralorn. They have much in store for you. For many months now I have been wishing for a better life than the one I've lead, so Valar willing this may count to ease my soul's passing when they see I did try. There may be something else I can do before I go." He paused and drew in a deep breath as Mayroniel began to head his way, unsheathing a knife. "Ranger, if you can, take care of the boy as well as yourself. He can help you if he trusts you." Valan's head rolled to the side, his breathing turning haggard. Mayroniel walked up behind him, his blade glinting.

Shoving the astounded ranger aside, Mayroniel waited until Ralorn nodded his head before driving his knife into Valan's abdomen. The pierce barely below his ribs made Valan gasp in pain, his breath coming in short, ragged gulps for air. Mayroniel none-to-gently yanked out his knife out of the former guard's stomach before turning away in disgust.

Aragorn reached out for the suffering elf, but his hand was kicked away and he was yanked to his feet. Mayroniel shook him hard and lead him back to Ralorn.

Ralorn looked back at the ranger dispassionately. The escape had nearly worked, but in the end the attempt was proven futile. Now that all who showed signs of disloyalty revealed, perhaps there would be no more incidents like this one. Turning to his men, he pointed to Valan who still lay on the ground near the body of the dead mare.

"Let this be a reminder or a lesson for any disloyalty. If you submitted to me, you also submit your life to my whim. I will not let treachery such as this ruin years of work." One last time Ralorn looked over at Valan, and spit on the ground. Valan was still alive, if only just. Let him die a slow, painful death. He would be lucky to live three days with an injury like that since there was no one close enough with the power to heal a wound so severe. Many of the elf's interior organs had been cut into with the weapon Mayroniel still held.

"Arahil," Ralorn directed his attention to the younger elf that had ridden up behind him. Arahil had dismounted and now stood next to his white stallion, stroking the horse's neck and speaking softly to him, his face like a pillar of stone. He had watched everything that had happened, and none of it gave him any pleasure. Rather, it made him sick at heart. Yet even so he did wish to let Ralorn know that. "This is the first of many that you will learn when you enter into my service. I don't think you'll forget it quickly."

Arahil decided not to argue, though everything in him wished he could. "I understand."

"Good."

Mayroniel pulled Aragorn after him roughly, hardly allowing the ranger a backward glance at the dying elf and the carcass of the mare behind them. He prayed that Valan knew of his thanks for the attempt, but his heart burned painfully that his short-lived freedom had been at the cost of an immortal life. Finally Mayroniel slapped him hard, and Aragorn was forced to fall in step with the guard. Understanding the elf's ruthlessness now, Aragorn winced at the firm grip on his arms.

Valan lifted his head at the passing group, watching the ranger disappear between the guards. "Be strong, Ranger... don't let go."

Arahil passed right by the fallen body and pressed his fingertips into the side of Valan's throat. The pulse was weak and slow. Valan lifted his gaze to the eyes of the young rider, and whispered only, "Take care of the Ranger and the boy."

The young elf watched the cloudy eyes grow glazed and knew that Valan had passed out from blood loss. Unwilling to leave the elf to die out in the forthcoming sun next to a dead horse, he mounted Asfaloth and rode ahead of the group, back to the trading town.

Inside, he found the local healer and urged the man to go get Valan and take care of him for what time he had left. When the man balked at the thought of offering free service, Arahil rolled his eyes at the thought of human greed and paid the man quickly. Just before the young elf left Ilmgalad with Ralorn and the other guards that night, he saw the healer and a few others carefully carrying Valan inside the walls. Content that he had done what he could, Arahil silently followed Ralorn back into the Misty Mountains.

And taking Valan's last words to him, as a complete stranger, into heart, he kept an even more close and watchful eye than what was originally intended on Aragorn... and the blind boy.


	5. The Plot Thickens

Chapter 4

**The Plot Thickens**

"Elladan, what is this place?"

"Trading town, most definitely." Elladan dismounted from his horse and led the animal through the doors. "It's quite small, made for traveling slave traders. Toward the back there will be a large selling ring, but up front there's going to be stables for horses and inns for men. It looks as though elves are not uncommon here either. That's impressive."

He was right. Anyone they passed as they made their way through the town just glanced at them and kept going about their business. Well, better still. They wouldn't have much trouble finding out what they needed when they had to talk to others.

The three companions decided to split up. Legolas headed for the back of the town toward the selling ring, while the twins took the side businesses.

It was nearing the end of the day, and the sky was growing from yellow and orange to darker shades of blue and grey. Legolas moved slowly, letting his eyes take in any detail he could. When he did reach the selling ring, he was met with an almost empty arena. Only a few men were left, gathering up what remaining provisions had been left. Binding his mare to a nearby post, he left the horse and walked quickly to one of the men.

The slave trader refused to speak to him. It did not matter what Legolas did to try, the man would just turn his back on him and pretend the elf wasn't even there. It was like that all the way around the arena, apparently that since it was after selling hours, the only interest these men had was to pack up and go home. The only business done after the sun began to set was usually not good and the elf's questions made them nervous.

"Please," Legolas said, trying to catch one man's eye. "I just want to know if you've-"

"I'm sorry," the man whispered, cutting the prince off while his eyes remained glued to the pack he was tying to the back of a stout donkey. "I know nothing. I don't want any trouble."

"I won't give you any trouble," the elf told him, "I just want to know if you've seen a young man with dark hair pass through here-"

"Lots of young men come through here," The man hastily replied, and gripping the donkey's halter began to pull the animal away. "Please, I only help my master with the slaves. Go ask someone else." The slave trader turned from Legolas, leading the fat donkey behind him.

That was how it went. Even the few who would talk to him had no clue who Aragorn was, who he had been with, and least of all where he had been taken. Time swept by, until finally when Legolas was about to throw up his hands in defeat, he found one man who knew, or at least recognized the name Ralorn.

"Do you know where he was headed?" Legolas was almost desperate now.

The portly watchman that oversaw the arena rubbed his chin. "No, I don't. He was headed north through the Misty Mountains last I saw, but its dangerous country up there, I'm told." Legolas sighed. "But-" the man's eyes brightened as he recalled something. "He was here a week or so ago, selling his slaves the day he left. He got angry with one of his guards over something and left him behind. As far as I know, the guard's still here, but in a bad way."

"Do you know where I could find him?" the prince, amazed that he may have finally found a lead, pressed the watchman with urgent eyes.

"With the local healer I presume. He was hurt pretty bad, but someone paid to have him taken care of. The healer's home is just a stone's throw from here. Take the main entrance out of the arena and head south to the middle of town. Can't miss it."

Legolas looked in the direction the watchman pointed before turning back. "I thank you," he said gratefully before dashing away.

"Good luck." The watchman waved him off.

'Thank the Valar there are still good men,' Legolas thought as he quickly untied his mare and headed in the way he had been directed. It was nearly full dark now and hardly anyone was out. As he jogged, he kept a sharp eye out for Elladan and Elrohir. He had been talking to people for nearly two hours now, and Legolas wondered what the twins had found.

He found Elladan almost immediately, for the elder twin had come to look for him. Elladan had been unsuccessful and quickly let the prince know of it and his inner frustration. No one had wanted to talk to him either. Obviously no one liked total foreigners. Several minutes later they found Elrohir inside a local bar, in the middle of a heated conversation with the bartender. Elladan and Legolas walked up right behind Elrond's youngest twin, backing up his retort.

"No he does not owe me anything!" Elrohir told the laughing bartender angrily. "All I wish to know is that whether or not you've-"

"Elrohir!" Legolas cut the twin off and gave the bartender an evil glare that made the man fall back a step in surprise. Legolas was frustrated too, and he was not about to listen to someone tease any of the three of them. Elladan's glare was no less piercing.

Elrohir's eyes were snapping furiously at the man before he followed his brother and the prince out of the bar. As they stepped out onto the road and got their horses, Elrohir began muttering under his breath.

"Stupid man. He tried to get me to admit that I was trying to kill Estel for something, not just find him. Ooh, I probably would have done something down right painful to him if you two hadn't stopped me right then..." he untied his horse and turned to the others. "Did you have any luck?"

Elladan shook his head, but Legolas nodded. "I think I found something. Come on, we must go find the local healer's home."

As they walked, Legolas told them what he had discovered from the watchmen who had recognized the name Ralorn. Once his short story was complete, neither twin made a comment, but stared straight ahead and let this new information sink in.

After a few minutes of silence, Legolas pressed the two. "Well? Does that help? Or am I going to have to continue to guess about this elf's past since neither of you will tell me anything about him?"

"No, Legolas," Elladan stopped the prince. "It has just been so long... we never thought we would have to deal with this after so many years. We will have to tell you the story quite soon, possibly even tonight, but not here in this town. Let's get done here, and I promise you that we will tell all that needs be told."

Legolas quieted and let them all walk in silence. Some part of him did understand the twins' hesitancy, because when he put himself in that position he knew he probably would be acting much the same way. But the other half of him was scared and desperately desired to know the truth, but he just bid himself be patient. He didn't dwell on it for long, for soon they had found the small building that the watchman had described to him.

After knocking on the thick wooden door, Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir only had to wait a few moments before the door was opened by a young man just about Aragorn's age. Solid dark eyes took in the sight of the three travelers and beyond them, their three horses. Without stalling for a heartbeat, the young man smiled at them and opened the door wider, inviting them in.

Gratefully the three elves entered the warm interior of the front room. With a slam and a click the door was bolted shut and the young man introduced himself.

"My name is Don, an assistant healer to Estan, the head healer. How may I help you?"

Legolas stepped forward and introduced himself, "My name is Legolas of distant Mirkwood. This is Elladan," he turned and pointed to one twin, "and Elrohir," pointing to the other twin, "of Rivendell."

Elladan leaned close to Elrohir and smiled. "He got us mixed up again."

Elrohir smiled back, restraining a laugh. "I know."

The twins were interrupted as Legolas continued to speak. "We have just recently found out that you have been taking care of an elf that was injured about a week ago, and we wish to know if we could see him."

Don looked at him curiously. These elves didn't look threatening, but he had to be careful. "Are you relatives of his?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, but he may know where someone we are looking for is. We have no desire to harm him."

The young healer considered it, and then nodded his head. These elves posed no threat that he could tell. "All right, follow me." He motioned them down a side hall. The three elves quickly followed the silent form of the young healer.

Suddenly, just as Don opened his mouth to say something a door at the end of the hall burst open, and an older woman poked her head out. "Don, get in here!"

Don turned his head quickly to his guests. "Forgive me, but the elf you ask for has not been doing well. He had been infected with a strange poison that is most unlike anything we've encountered. His elven endurance seems to be helping him fight, but even that has begun to wane in strength. Estan doesn't think he will even survive much longer. You can follow and watch if you do not interfere, and perhaps if this passes you can speak to him."

"Don!" the woman urged him faster. "He's convulsing again. I need you in here now!"

"I'm here!" Don ran into the room after her head disappeared. At one passing look between Legolas and the twins, they followed.

Standing next to the door so they would be out of the way, the three elves watched Don and the woman try to calm the convulsions that tormented the pitifully weak body that lay on the bed. He was most obviously an elf, but his skin was so pale and clammy, and his eyes were wide as he fought for breath. He had the appearance of one who had lost much weight over a score of a few days; a thin, haggard shell that was desperately trying to keep the soul from drifting away into oblivion.

Elladan tried to walk forward to see if he could help, but Legolas and Elrohir held him back. Elladan was an excellent healer and well versed in the art, and the pain that the immortal being was radiating had pierced his heart. But his companions did not allow that, for though they wished it, there was nothing they could do and Don had told them to stay out of it.

Several minutes passed before the two healers managed to stop the weakened convulsions and the elf again lay still on his bed. When he was sure the problem was over for now, Don turned around and faced the newcomers standing next to the door.

"It's stopped now, but his pulse is fading. Quickly, if you would still speak to him, do so now. I know not how long he will last now."

The three elves walked forward, Legolas sat on the edge of the bed and the twins knelt at the edge near the headboard. Up close, the elf looked worse. Dry, cracking skin made him look hundreds of years older than he was, and a horrible rattling in his throat made his voice raspy, but yet it still remained amazingly deep and clear.

"Are you from Rivendell?" the whispered words were almost pleading as dimming eyes sought out the prince's bright gaze above him.

Legolas smiled softly. If not by people or birthplace did he belong to Rivendell, then it was by intention and heart. "Not really, but they are," he said, indicating the two twins that had knelt close by, watching soundlessly at the elf that seemed to age in front of their eyes. "Their names are Elladan and Elrohir, and I am Legolas."

"His name is Valan," Don called over to them from the other side of the room, having listened to the conversation. "When he can speak he often asks for anyone from Rivendell."

"You must go help him!" Valan rasped, his lips shaking. "I tried to help... but they stopped me."

"Valan, you know an elf named Ralorn?" Legolas quietly asked and watched Valan's eyes grow darker. Don quietly left the room, giving the elves the space they needed. There was nothing more he could do to help.

"Yes, I do. I was a guard for his slaves and his home. Worked at his expense for many long years, farther south where the Corsairs are. But for a while now I have been rebelling against his orders, to get out and find something richer than what I've been after." Valan closed his eyes.

"It never sat well with me to kidnap and torture an innocent young ranger for revenge, no matter the reasons why, and Lord Ralorn must have thought I was getting soft. But I couldn't do it. Couldn't watch him kill another young being. So the first chance I found, I took the ranger away and tried to get him out of Ilmgalad. We made it to the forest edge before my mare was suddenly shot down from under us. We fell. He slit my mare's throat. His assistant drove his poisoned knife into my gut. They took him back and left me. Then right before I blacked out, another elf I had never seen before stood over me. I told him to take care of the ranger and the boy... darkness came after that. I woke up here."

"A boy?"

"Ralorn's only other prisoner he will not release. The boy's father was a highly skilled craftsman and his work renowned even by elves. It was said that about nine years ago Ralorn heard about him and about a treasure he had made-"his voice caught in pain, "a treasure worth much. He sought after it, and when Belegon, the boy's father, refused to give it to him Ralorn killed him without question and took his young son captive. The lad was only about six and quite blind, but Belegon had told Ralorn that the treasure was for the boy and no other. Since the death of his father the boy has not spoken a word though Ralorn has tried often to get him to, but it would be cowardly to kill a blind child." Valan's words were becoming harder to understand, but he kept up with it as though it were the most important thing he'd ever do. "He refuses to let it go, and the years have only hardened his resolve."

"Who is Ralorn?"

"A cold, hardened elf. He has spent most of his adult years among the Corsairs and contributing to their business in slave trading. He met another elf named Mayroniel within that trade. Beware of them both. Ralorn may be cold and violent but Mayroniel is outwardly worse. He is a fierce and evil-hearted assassin. The two of them together can be utterly ruthless. Mayroniel is the dragon and Ralorn is his keeper, and you can never be sure who is really worse... the one who attacks or the one that ordered the attack."

"This is dreadful news indeed. Please Valan, tell us - how can we find him?"

Valan's eyes grew desperate as his voice began to fail him. "North toward the Grey Mountains. Cross the Hoardale River at the edge of the wilds, then keep Mount Gram to your left shoulder and the Hithaeglir, the Misty Mountains, to your right. Ralorn knows of a cave somewhere, it is where he can... burrow away and take out his revenge. The going may be slow because of the weather, but horses should help you..." Valan clutched at his chest, his eyes almost wild. "Please go after them... find them... take the ranger and the boy away. I pray the Valar will guide you before too many evil deeds are done..." The dying elf sunk back into his pillow, his strength to fight the poison almost gone. "Do not fear the trembling earth... do not stop until you find the cave..." Valan looked up at the ceiling, no longer speaking to the three companions. "I have served my need... let me rest now."

Trembling, Legolas leaned forward and whispered fiercely in elvish. "Thank you for helping us. May you rest with ease, friend."

Valan relaxed at the words and a small smile touched his face, his eye letting go of their light. Grey and dark, the eyelids closed, and Valan's spirit peacefully fled the room.

Elladan reached forward and covered the still face with his hand. "Hiro ith... ab'wanath." He sighed. "Hannon le, mellon."

Don returned and walked up silently to the silent figures around the bed, stopping on the opposite side of the twins and picked up the white sheet that covered the unmoving body and draped it gently over Valan's sunken face. He sighed.

"We knew he wouldn't live through his injuries. But when a young elf came here and begged Estan to take him in, we did as instructed. When he could speak he would tell us much of what he had done and a little about his life..." Don stopped, thinking mournfully. "The boy he speaks of, he reminds me of my little brother. He and my father were killed years ago when I left for two years of training. I never really found out what happened to them. Just came home to an empty house, and the one grave marker of my father. My brother was never found."

He looked up at Legolas and the twins, watching them. "What will you do?"

Elladan stood slowly. "We are going after Ralorn. They took my little brother and I refuse to let him go while I know he still lives."

Elrohir nodded and stood with his twin. "Valan told us the way to go. And Valar willing, we will find our little brother and bring him back home."

Legolas stood with the twins, but did not speak as the others did.

Don nodded at them all. "Go. And do so quickly! The weather hasn't been kind the past few weeks; it changes faster than one changes moods. Please go with my good will."

The three companions thanked him for his help and a short while later they mounted their horses and disappeared into the growing dark, heading north.

Later that night and several miles away, the three companions stopped near a small spring to rest their horses and wait out the rest of the fading darkness. As they cared for their hardy beasts, Legolas again spoke to his friends.

"Can I have the story of Ralorn now?"

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, and then nodded. Elladan had promised to tell the prince, and Legolas was no longer willing to wait. He wanted to know why his best friend had been taken, and he wasn't about to let the twins hide from it anymore.

So Elladan began, his soft, regretful voice shaping in the cool of the last of the night air a sad painful story, unfolding it quickly, piece by piece, until all of it had been revealed. When the sun had begun to touch the tips of the mountains and the elder twin ended his story, Legolas was at a loss for words.

§§§

Sweat fell down to mingle with the unkempt hair, stinging the squinting eyes and again forcing one hand to come up and wearily brush the burden away. Aragorn grit his teeth tightly and shut his eyes, but it did no good. His foot caught a rock and his balance thrown for a moment before he could recover. Mentally he forced himself to watch the ground again and keep up with the great black stallion in front of him. Considering how much he was aching under the hot sun, he couldn't imagine how the black horse felt.

For what felt like the hundredth time since that morning when they had again set out, Aragorn glanced quickly at Mayroniel before turning around to get a glimpse of the blind boy walking a short distance away behind another guard. The teenager was having a much more difficult time than he was. Without his eyes to guide him over obstacles the young man was barely able to stay upright. His guard didn't take any notice of his charge's problems, and often would nudge his mount into a quick trot for several paces and guaranteeing a fall from the boy.

Aragorn's heart burned at the sight of his young friend's distress. The two had somehow become shaky friends over the past few days since they left Ilmgalad, and the young boy had begun to stick close to the ranger's side for protection. Aragorn shielded the young man from much abuse from the guards, and at night while they tried to sleep, would calm both of them with a soft, familiar song. Aragorn had grown accustomed to the silence, but it didn't stop him from talking to the boy every night about something to keep his spirits up, usually a story of home that encouraged them both. Aragorn couldn't think of something to call his new friend yet, something that fit, but the boy did enjoy the company of a friend despite the fact that the ranger knew nothing of him. Yet somehow the one-sided conversations continued. The ranger could tell the teenager's will to live was failing, and with the healer's heart within him he was doing his best to keep hopes high.

He himself was weary beyond anything that he could remember at the moment, for he had had hardly any decent sleep and Ralorn had ordered him to be given just enough substance to keep him alive, little water and less food. Hunger pinched his insides, and slight effects of dehydration were kicking in as he followed the Guard unwillingly. But he was older than the boy, had endured such things before, and like the black horse in front of him he could not imagine what the boy must be feeling right then.

The mountains suddenly took a dangerous drop several hundred feet at their right, ending at the bottom with a river filled with rapids. The rushing water inside the canyon made Aragorn's head spin with want. If he could only have a little to soothe the ache in his throat...

A horse trotted lightly next to him and startled him out of his musings. The blind boy's guard had again urged his mount forward and sure enough, Aragorn heard the thud behind him. Without mental thought Aragorn again wheeled around to see the teenager on the dry mountain floor, his foot wedged between a thick tree root and a rock that he could not have escaped on a good day.

The blind boy's guard was already to far ahead of his charge to stop fast enough, and the rope that bound the young hands yanked him forward, throwing the teenager flat on the ground, a soft cry of pain let loose as his body was wrenched forward and his palms splitting open on the ground with the force.

"Mayroniel! See to that!" A deep voice rarely heard rippled through the still air, mixing oddly with the sound of the rapids below. The call was not ignored.

Before Aragorn could react he was suddenly slapped upside the head and a blur passed him by. Mayroniel had turned around and caught him looking the other way. As soon as his vision cleared, the ranger again watched the assassin pull out a long, coiled whip and shake it out.

Not again, he couldn't watch this again! Several times over the past few days he had watched the boy be hurt for something he couldn't control and try as he might, the ranger just couldn't protect his young friend from all the abuse. Mayroniel was especially brutal and it appeared that Ralorn didn't really care what his assistant did so long as he didn't kill either of the slaves. Aragorn hated and feared the evil elf much to his dislike, but not even he could withstand the pain Mayroniel enjoyed inflicting.

A whistling snap cut through the once quiet air and the teenager again cried out, this time in true pain. The whip cut through his thin tunic and left a painful strip of red on his back. Mayroniel raised the whip again, intending to urge the boy to his feet.

Not again...

Anger rarely seen in such a joyful and lighthearted spirit flared suddenly in a hidden part of Aragorn's will. He had been holding back for nearly a week now, shoving the anguish and pain away, but not anymore. He just couldn't watch them torture the child he had come to befriend again. With the flare of anger came an unexpected rush of power, and Aragorn seized it, harnessed it, and used it to his advantage. The whip was falling again to the unprotected back of the teenager, and the boy looked up, his blind eyes filling with pain as he searched desperately for his friend, his protector. That was all it took to get the ranger moving. Aragorn ran forward, his face a mixture of fear for his friend and anger for his oppressor. He knew his limits and this was within them, he had learned that much already. Whatever Mayroniel could reach, so could he.

The whip again made a mark, but it was not on the back for which it was intended. Aragorn had run forward and covered the boy's body with his own, lifting the teenager up and holding the groaning head against his chest. Aragorn let out a small whisper of pain as the whip cut though his tunic and into him as well, leaving a large red stripe starting between his shoulder blades and running up to his shoulder, along side his neck, and ending with a harsh snap against his cheekbone.

Mayroniel hissed at the sight of the older slave protecting the younger one, and he raised the whip a third time. If Aragorn wanted to help, he was going to pay for it.

Aragorn shuddered at the thought of being hit again with the whip, but something in him took over as he heard it fall forward. He let go of the boy and lifted his bound hands up, shielding his face against the glare of the sun and blocking his body from further abuse. The whip curled painfully around his arm and bit into his skin, but his right hand grew a mind of its own and snatched the sharp leather above him, gripping hard and unexpectedly yanking the handle out of Mayroniel's hand.

All went deathly silent for a moment. Aragorn rose slowly, throwing the whip aside with his chest heaving from slight exertion and the pain against his back, cheek and arm. Gently but quickly, he pulled the boy's foot caught in the ground but did not help him to rise, his eyes locked on the furious ones of Mayroniel. The boy looked up at the ranger blankly but fearfully, his lips moving in silent speech, a plea for the truth to be undone. He had no desire to get the man in trouble; he hadn't been expecting the ranger to help him...

Aragorn's eyes were almost wild, but remained deadly calm. The fury that had been awoken had hardly been seen, and only in the defense of those he cared about.

"You will not touch him again," he said in an odd, cold voice, a strange light in his eyes. "He has done nothing wrong. You will destroy him if you continue to beat him for something he cannot control. Leave the boy alone."

One of the guards kicked his horse forward, intending to stop the prisoners, but Mayroniel stopped him fast. "Leave him to me," he told the guard, whose name was Lom, and smoothly dismounted. As he hit the ground, his right hand gripped a long knife at his side, the very same knife that he had used to injure Valan with and inject a strange poison that had taken the guard's life.

Ever since Mayroniel had told him to hold his tongue or lose it, the ire and hatred between these two had only grown with each passing day. It was only a matter of time before they decided to let each other know what they thought of the other.

"You see this knife, human?" Mayroniel hefted the weight of the knife in his hands, letting the gleaming handle twist in his long fingers and allowing the blade to glint and flash in the sun. "Set on its edge is a poison that would kill the strongest of bodies in less than one week. To the regular man like you, it would destroy you within three days. Now if you don't want to meet an early end," he tipped the point of the blade toward Aragorn's chest, "you had better remember your place."

Aragorn looked back with no less fury, his eyes snapping fire. "My place," he said in his oddly calm voice, lifting up his hands and holding them out empty, "is not below yours."

Aragorn didn't know what was making him flirt with death like this, for there was no way Mayroniel would let it pass. But something in him had indeed awoken, and it was not going to go away quickly. His fear was forgotten; he only wanted to teach Mayroniel to not throw his need for pain around so much.

Mayroniel gripped his open hand and held the blade out in front of him, walking toward Aragorn slowly. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. It might make it better for you later."

Aragorn only gave him the strangest smile he had ever seen, a sly, hidden secret smile. Mayroniel did not glance away from Aragorn's piercing gaze as he reached for the rope that bound the man's hands.

Aragorn let Mayroniel almost touch the rope before reacting with a speed the assassin thought the ranger was incapable of and he completely unprepared for.

Aragorn's right foot left the ground and came around in a swift round-house kick that connected with the side of Mayroniel's head and left the elf sprawling on the ground. The man's experience with weapon-less ground fighting was minimal but he knew enough to defend himself accurately enough.

_Thank you, Legolas, for teaching me that_, he silently thanked his friend as he reacted quickly, stealing the knife the Mayroniel had managed to keep a loose grip on. Just as Mayroniel shook his head and rose with a roar, Aragorn flipped the blade inward and the sharp edge slit through the bonds, freeing his hands. A small prick of pain on one finger annoyed him for only one instant before he redirected his attention to his attacker. Mayroniel lunged for his throat.

Aragorn grit his teeth and shoved his shoulder into the assassin's unprotected stomach, throwing him back and sending them both to the ground. Mayroniel grabbed at the wrist of the hand that held his poisoned knife, but Aragorn fought back, trying to keep the blade away from Mayroniel's waiting anger.

A strange weariness was making its way through his body, making the ranger feel the extent of his power waning. Still he tried to struggle, unwilling to give up. Getting up on Mayroniel and holding the elf down, he gripped the knife tightly away from his attacker. The assassin managed to free one hand and grab a fistful of Aragorn's long hair, pulling the man's head down and to the side, trying to get closer to the hand that held the knife. Recalling a move that had disarmed Elrohir not so long ago, he jabbed his elbow into Mayroniel's ribs.

The hand that gripped his wrist suddenly let go and Aragorn didn't let his chance fly away. He threw his weight against that arm and pinned it underneath him, but in his wild haste he fell too far and his hand that held onto the knife sliced through the air and landed in the ground with a hollow thud.

Mayroniel screamed.

The unexpected cry threw Aragorn back in surprise but Mayroniel did not try to get up and follow. He huddled in on himself, breathing raggedly and clutching one hand to him. Aragorn glanced at the ground, and saw something in the dirt next to the knife sticking handle up out of the mountain floor, the blade red. Aragorn froze.

He had cut off two of Mayroniel's fingers.

When the knife had hit the ground, it had landed right where Aragorn had Mayroniel's left hand pinned. Sharpened to perfection and cared for with only the best, the knife had done its job. It had cleanly and effectively removed Mayroniel's thumb and most of his first finger. Warm sticky blood was spreading over the front of the assassin's shirt as he pressed his maimed hand against it, his forehead against the dust of the ground.

Sounds of new threat were resounding from around him but Aragorn couldn't move. Couldn't believe what he had done. He had done it in defense of himself, for the boy, and it was even unintended, an accident... but still, he couldn't believe he had done so. Shock overrode pride. What had he done?

The guards around him were done watching and a prisoner had just injured one of their superiors. They wanted blood. Two quickly dismounted and rushed at Aragorn, intent to recapture the man. Aragorn woke up just before they reached him and again had to struggle against being caught, but the odd weariness had begun to overcome him and he was quickly taken again.

Aragorn tried to pull away, but he no longer had the strength to fight and finally gave up. He glanced up at one point and his eyes locked on sightless ones. The boy was some distance away, watching him with a look of uttermost fear and surprise, for he had heard the fight and knew that what had transpired was at the cause of him. If the boy could have seen Aragorn's face, he would have found it surprisingly calm, filled with a numb pain that was having trouble figuring itself out. The fighting rage had left Aragorn's will and the wild fire left his eyes, leaving them gentle. His actions were unreadable, his face indescribable.

Strange, numbing cold with no known cause wrapped around him.

Ralorn had dismounted with the guards and now walked in front of Aragorn, putting himself between the ranger and the boy. His eyes were deadly, but his actions unhurried. Confusion was again added to the look on Aragorn's face as he watched the elf take in the scene in front of him, then walk silently to Mayroniel's side and lift the assassin halfway off the ground.

Time swam and mixed together in Aragorn's head as something began to toy with his ability to stay awake. He could barely tell what Ralorn did to take care of the wounds that Mayroniel had, but he did remember the barely audible cries when they had to be seared and bound.

Minutes passed. Aragorn couldn't understand the odd sensations coursing through him, sapping his strength. Soon his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his head swimming. The poison... the pinky finger on his left hand twanged again. He had nicked the finger and sent in a small amount of the terror into his bloodstream. Fast acting and deadly, it was working its way deep into his system. Aragorn clenched the hand limply, pulling it close to him as he blinked heavily, trying to stay awake.

Suddenly and unexpectedly something was shoved into his mouth. A raw, thick, disgusting blob of some kind of root was stuffed behind his teeth and his mouth held shut to keep him from spitting whatever it was back out again. Then he tasted something familiar... a long soft leaf that he had used before to slow poisoning... Mentis?

He choked it all down but his brain and stomach quenched as he did so. When whomever it was that was holding his mouth shut knew he had swallowed the unknown substance, they let go and allowed him to lean forward and spit on the ground, trying to expel the taste from his tongue.

The effect was remarkable. In mere minutes the odd weariness began to leave him, slowly draining out of his body and leaving him quite tired, but again feeling normal. He had been cured of the poison... but why? How?

Breathing hard, Aragorn looked up but immediately one of the guards shoved his head back down so he was again staring at his knees. Carefully, he tried to peek through his hair that fell in front of his eyes, but again the guard hit him just below the skull and made his vision dance for a moment.

"You will advert your eyes until told otherwise," one of the guards behind him said harshly, warning in his voice.

"Relax, Silore," the deep voice spoke somewhere above him. "Let him look up."

Aragorn was hit again before he could react. "Do as you are told!"

Wincing but annoyed, Aragorn looked back up into the sun with a dark silhouette blocking some of the light away in front of it. After trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden forthcoming light, the figure spoke.

"Make him stand. I will not kneel to the dust to talk to him."

Both the ranger's shoulders where roughly grabbed and he was lifted to his feet with alarming speed. His arms and hands were gripped behind him tightly and his head wrenched up one guard had pulled a chunk of his hair back so his face was in full light. After a moment of collecting himself through the abuse, Aragorn opened his eyes and stared at the tall elf in front of him. Ralorn.

No expression. None whatsoever. A blank mask was staring at Aragorn, staring and registering anything and everything, so dark and deep it felt like it was seeping into the man's forehead and reading his mind. Aragorn could not withstand such an intense gaze. He had never been under the likes of it before in his life. He had had his share of intensity but this was completely new. It was different from Legolas', the twins', or his father's. He didn't even know what it was that made it so hard to endure. Only seconds went by before Aragorn shut his eyes, breathing heavily, unable to stay under its horror.

"Tirna amin."

(Look at me)

A little frightened now, Aragorn hesitantly tried to meet the leader's gaze, unable to breathe. Ralorn stared hard at him, raising one eyebrow and looked as though he were trying to figure out something about the man, something that confused him. He gave up quickly though, moments later turning his eyes away. Aragorn breathed again.

"Tur-each daer al milui? Ea le isto?"

(How can you be so heartless? Do you know?)

Aragorn's new breath snagged in his lungs. "Know what?" the words were hardly above a whisper.

"Know what?" Ralorn looked at him harshly. "Did they never tell you?"

"Who? What are you-"

Aragorn was slapped. "Don't lie to me!" Ralorn did not allow Aragorn to look away from his dark, piercing eyes that seemed to tear apart whatever their gaze fell upon. Aragorn was already at his whit's end with the hardly started interrogation. "Elladan a Elrohir, Elrondionnath peredhel!" He threw the names in elvish at the man like a curse. "Do those names mean anything to you!"

Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond Half-elven

"Y-yes, they... are my brothers-"

Aragorn was hit again, electing a soft startled cry from the man. "Your brothers." Ralorn vented his anger out through his breath. "Their brother. Why did they take you? Not of their blood, nor even of their race! Why would they show you the kindness they denied me!"

Aragorn's eyes were burning from the questioning and the pain. The lash on his back was beginning to sting as his sweat settled on the raw open wound, and the painful handling was wearing him out. "I-I don't understand..."

"You wouldn't." Aragorn flinched at the ire in Ralorn's voice. "How could you understand? Well know this, brother of Elladan and Elrohir," the word 'brother' was spit out at him as though it pained Ralorn to say it, "they have taken everything from me. Now I live to only bring them the pain that they gave me. Which is where you come in, little human. You are going to help me bring them pain, by taking some yourself."

Ralorn turned away, his countenance beyond fury. "Arahil!"

One of the guards that had held back stepped forward, his movements careful and thought out. "Yes?"

"Take him." Ralorn pointed dispassionately at Aragorn who looked ready to fall to his knees in despair. "You are now the human's guard, since Mayroniel can no longer look after him. Give him no water until nightfall; do not care for his wounds. I want him to walk. Understand?"

"Yes."

"And you," Ralorn again turned to Aragorn, who had to resist the urge to jump away from him. "Be a good little human and listen to your new guard. The pain you have given Mayroniel will not go unpunished, I can assure you of that. But not here. We shall wait and see, shall we?" Ralorn turned to the two guards behind Aragorn. "Release him to Arahil. Get back to your horses."

Both guards quickly obeyed.

Aragorn was shaking visibly as he was shoved toward Arahil. Lacking the strength and will to stand he sat there on his hands and knees, shuddering like he had just been beaten.

And mentally, he just had.

Arahil was suddenly next to him, bringing him back to the present with a sudden jolt. "Come on, get up," the guard told him, offering him one hand. Aragorn looked up at Arahil fearfully, a bruise forming on his cheek and his eyes wide. Arahil shook his hand lightly in front of Aragorn, proving that he held no weapon. "It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." Hesitantly, Aragorn gripped Arahil's hand and let the elf pull him up into a standing position.

Arahil was a little shorter than he was and much more slender than his sturdy frame, but he was indeed very strong and quick. Dark eyes pierced him but the gaze was neither harsh nor cold, and when Arahil rebound him at the wrists and tied the other end to the next of his beautiful white stallion, the knots weren't tight and painful, but firm enough just to keep him from getting away easily. After the days of abuse from Mayroniel, Aragorn had nearly forgotten what little mercy he could receive in situations as this. He shook still, but his fear was ebbing away. He no longer had the strength to resist, and followed Arahil's stallion quietly. He didn't know if it was just him or not, but it felt as though the white stallion was going a much slower pace than what he was used to.

Arahil remained at the back of the group, trying not to draw attention to himself. The other guards had no fondness for him even if Ralorn honored his skill. Most teased him about his size and features, so to avoid the stinging barbs; he remained behind and suffered through the occasional dust clouds that were kicked up by the others.

They had hardly traveled a mile before Aragorn fell to his knees again and this time couldn't bring himself to rise. Arahil looked back quickly to see his charge on the ground again in suffering and called up ahead to Ralorn.

"My Lord, the prisoner is lacking his strength. I'd rather not fall behind just because he can't walk, so may I just let him ride on the back of my horse?"

Ralorn turned around and growled silently at the trembling form on the ground. "Go right ahead. That much is a mercy for him, but give no more than that, do you understand me?"

"It will be done."

"Oh yes, Arahil," one of the other guards called out to the elf. "Don't be too soft with him."

"Shut your mouth, Lom," Arahil threw back, turning Asfaloth around to get Aragorn off the ground.

Lom became very persistent, his voice reflecting a genuine distrust that lay just behind his teasing. "Come on, if you are you'll just have to give the slave to me. I'll take care of him right-"

"Yes, I'm sure you could. And find yourself at the bottom of the river because he threw you over the edge, you soft-eared whelp. Get back in line."

"Why you-"

"Lom! Get back in line!" Lom stopped growling at Arahil and hesitated when Ralorn called back harshly. Ralorn wasn't about to allow an argument slow their journey, and no one ever wanted to get on the leader's bad side if they planned on living without pain. Arahil smirked at Lom's retreating form and dismounted, landing right next to Aragorn.

"Come here now," Arahil gently lifted Aragorn off the ground and directed him to the side of his white horse. "Now, do you think you can sit on my horse?"

Aragorn's hand ran over his eyes, his voice shaking with tired pain. "I will try."

After a few attempts Arahil managed to boost Aragorn over Asfaloth's back and get on behind him. Wrapping one arm around Aragorn's chest to keep him from falling off, Arahil told Asfaloth to walk. The obedient animal immediately stepped forward, taking his place in the silent line of guards again.

Lom suddenly turned around and cantered his horse to the back of the line, right behind Arahil. "I don't trust you new-comer," he said as Arahil looked at him questioningly and even a bit threateningly. "Don't try to escape me; I don't care what you can do on that horse. You won't get away and take the man back like that fool Valan tried too."

Arahil glared at the elf but made no response. These guards would never trust him, for even when asked he gave no information about his past or who he was. The betrayal of Valan had made them all paranoid about him, and though Arahil did nothing to garner such hate it made no difference. The uncertainty was only held at bay by Ralorn, the only one who didn't batter the young elf around endlessly. The teasing was childish really and they all knew it, but as long as it did not hinder the journey it wasn't worth Ralorn's time to put a stop to it.

After some time had passed, Arahil leaned closer to Aragorn and whispered quietly in his ear. "Are you all right?"

Aragorn stiffened at the sound of the elf's clear voice. He had no idea what kind of a guard Arahil would be, and the possibilities frightened him. "I'm fine."

"No you aren't. I can see the mark on your back clearly you know." Arahil touched the whiplash lightly, making Aragorn wince and hiss between his teeth. "Don't play innocent with me."

Aragorn turned his head slightly, trying to get a look at Arahil. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Hush," Arahil stopped him. "Just save your strength. I'll try to help you if I can, but not now."

Aragorn's eyes widened in surprise. A guard was offering him aide? "Why would you help me?"

Arahil became silent.

"Why?"

Arahil sighed. "Because I do not wish for them to hurt you."

Aragorn stiffened again. He couldn't let his life and comforts come to the cost of another life. The weight from Valan's death was already crushingly hard on his burdened heart. Then to finally find out about Ralorn's intentions for him and the reason for his capture, the shock of it all was far too fresh and new.

"No, don't protect me like that. I won't have anyone risk their life for my sake." Aragorn pulled away from Arahil's grip and leaned closer to the slight bobbing of the white horse neck in front of him.

Arahil's hand was quickly on his uninjured shoulder. "Whether you want it or not, I'm going to do it. I can't guarantee that I can save you from all pain, but I will try to keep you alive and unbroken. I promise they won't catch me. They won't even know unless I tell them, I swear it."

Aragorn turned around as far as his neck would allow, his eyes again wide. Arahil did not back away from the gaze. Then suddenly he squinted at Arahil, something nagging the back of his mind. Something about Arahil seemed almost... familiar. The way he spoke and acted...

"Do I know you?" Aragorn did not let up his gaze, trying to match Arahil up with someone he felt sure he had met before. Arahil immediately broke the eye contact and looked away.

"It would be safer if you did not try to remember, for both our sakes," he whispered, reaching behind his head and pulled his cloak's hood over his hair, shielding his eyes under the shadow of the tough fabric. "Do me a favor and don't try to remember."

"All right," Aragorn whispered, almost questioningly, and turned his face back toward the head of the horse. Arahil did not speak to him again, and in silence they continued forward. Trying to stay true to the request of Arahil the ranger strived to think of something else other than the elf's hidden side.

Thoughts of his brothers again came to him and for a moment Aragorn again covered his face with his hands. What had he done to them? Allowing himself to be caught and causing them all such pain. The overwhelming fear of what Ralorn was going to do to him was suffocating, and just ahead he could see Mayroniel on his black stallion, one hand pressed up against his chest. At one point Mayroniel looked back at him and if his gaze could have it would have struck him dead where he was. A moment later Ralorn called out for Mayroniel and the two began to converse quietly, a whispered conversation he could not hear that made Mayroniel smile for the first time. A smile of a wish fulfilled. Aragorn again looked down and this time did not look back up.

A short while later, Arahil could hear soft noises that where not whispered encouragements for the horse. They were ones of uttermost pain, and if Arahil could have seen Aragorn's face he would have known that the ranger's eyes were wet with restrained tears, his voice a sad lament.


	6. Celebnar

Chapter 5

**Celebnar **

Dipping his hands back into the river water, he let the soft flowing of the eddies catch onto the coarse cloth and remove the sweat and dirt. After a moment, he swished it around and wrung it out before again working his way back into the thick hair of his horse.

_Don't move, just breathe for now. Just breathe… _Legolas whispered to the great animal as he worked. The area they had entered was in the middle of the rainy season, and the grounds had been unmerciful to their horses. Loyal though they were, the three elves knew they couldn't push them forever through the dank forest. At the first chance, they made a stop in a thicket of trees near the base of the wide stretch of mountains.

It was quiet. The trees around them glistened with their hold on the dew that had not yet been taken by the heat of the sun, and the ground soft and springy underfoot with the fallen branches and leaves.

Elladan and Elrohir were working close by, patiently working the tangles out of the manes and tails of their own animals. No conversation was being passed about, and all worked in comfortable silence.

Elrohir had been working on a particularly large tangle in his stallion's tail with gentle fingers when something tickled the back of his mind, disturbing him enough to stop for a moment and look around. Legolas glanced at the twin and raised an eyebrow.

"Elrohir, what do you hear?" Elladan had stopped working as well, watching at his brother.

Elrohir looked about him nervously. He didn't know what he had felt, but as he rested one hand on his horse's side, the stallion was tense and his ears cocked, twitching this way and that. A shiver ran inexplicably down his spine. Taking two steps toward the tree where he had left his own pack, Elrohir lifted his bow and slung his quiver over his shoulder.

"Something comes." He whispered, reaching behind him and pulling a long arrow from the quiver, notching it as fast as he could.

The others did not question his statement. Both Elladan and Legolas were armed and ready in moments, and all three of them listened carefully. Elrohir kept one eye trained on the forest and the other on his stallion. The horse was now looking around, trying to detect something, some noise that was barely detectable. In a heartbeat though, the stallion finally managed to discover what was sparking his interest and looked across the small mountain river, nickering softly as he eyed the bushes with a wide, open gaze.

"The trees across the river!" Elrohir hissed to the others as he stood next to a tree and aimed slowly, listening. He could hear it now, they all could.

Padded feet where making their way swiftly for where they stood waiting. They were coming in so close. Claws scraped against rocks, hot breath was huffing from slightly strained lungs, accompanied by an occasional whine... and two large dogs burst out of the bushes, scampering swiftly toward the river a few strides before stopping entirely. Elrohir slowly lowered his bow a few inches.

"Tigerwolves," he whispered.

The breed and the build of their muscular bodies was rare but familiar to the elf. These animals where not unlike the dogs they used for hunting deer, back in the forests they all called home, yet they were still very different. Knotty muscles rippled and jerked under tough hides, wary eyes locked on the elves hidden just beyond the trees across the small river. Both tigerwolves had dark fur; so brown it flicked black in the light, their bodies so large they roughly equaled the size of the elves themselves. But what made them dangerous was their killing nature the bloodlust. It was the reason they were almost forgotten and bred now only to hunt and kill; an assassin's best friend.

Whimpering for a few moments, they both twisted and turned around each other as if they were confused about what to do next. Then one of them, the larger beast of the two with one white paw came to the river's edge and let out a long, mournful howl. The other unmarked one came to his side and added his voice to that of his companion, mingling their voices, the sounds so eerie and fearful. It chilled the hearts of the elves, and they knew.

They were being followed.

"Quickly! We must leave!" Elrohir snatched up his pack and ran for his stallion's side, trying to calm the animal as he shied away from the dogs. Ilúvatar forbid the twins or Legolas would back away from a fight, but no way where they going to delay more than they had to. Elladan followed, throwing his pack back together and again strapping it around his shoulders before leaping onto the back of his own horse.

Legolas was slower. His bow remained tense and ready in his waiting fingers, but he knew this was far from over. Just beyond the dark shadows of the trees he could see a moving shape. It was large and irregularly shaped, but if he had not seen it before he would have run from the sight. Someone on horseback was headed for them, and since he was using dogs hardly bred anymore because of the dangerous nature the breed possessed, it was not someone they wanted to stick around to meet.

A strangled cry emitted from the branches of the trees and for a moment it froze Legolas where he stood. The tigerwolves ceased their howling and looked back toward the trees they had just appeared from, as though they were waiting for further instruction. The cry had sounded vaguely like a woman screaming, but something didn't sound quite right...

"Legolas!" he could see something small now, hurtling through the trees ahead of the dark rider. The color and detail of both beings that he could see still escaped him; they blended far too well in the forest they were in.

Both the twins were on their horses, armed and ready to flee. Elladan was trying hard to calm his horse, the stallion trying repeatedly to shy away from the large dogs that filled his heart with fear. Elrohir just sat on his horse as it too twisted around a little, but the animal too remained tense and waiting.

Another cry came from the trees from the same voice, but now it sounded low and chilling. The tigerwolves, who where listening intently, looked back across the river and bared their teeth. With a growling snap of their jaws, they leapt forward as one and began to cross the river swiftly.

_Valar take it all, what are they doing?_

Legolas jumped from his hiding spot and ran for his mount. The mare shied away from the sound of the dogs crossing the river, making it nigh impossible for Legolas to mount up. He barely managed to swing one leg over the mare's back before the large dogs reached the shore. They were out of time.

"Silme!" Legolas yelled out his mare's name, but the horse was beyond listening. One of the dogs was running straight for her, and Legolas could do nothing but hold on as she began to rear and plunge with her front legs, twisting around in odd circles to stay away from the dog just below her belly.

The dog evaded her easily, getting under her and snapping loudly, scaring Silme out of her wits. She plunged and bucked, never keeping more than two feet on the ground, desperate to not let the tiger-wolf have a clean shot at her legs but finding no place to run away from him.

The other tigerwolf had headed right for where the twins were, but instead of attacking like his companion, he snapped viciously at Elladan's horse and backed up. He growled loudly, showing off yellow teeth and large dark eyes. Body taunt and ready, he settled low to the ground, waited for a brief moment, and leapt straight into the air, right at Elladan. The tigerwolf rammed into the elf, knocking him off his horse as the animal neighed loudly in fear, and both of them crashed to the ground.

It did not happen unnoticed. A shocked cry came from next to where Elladan had been only a moment before, the elf's now riderless horse escaping the battle that had begun on the ground. Again reinserting the arrow into his bow, Elrohir tried to aim. "Elladan!"

Elladan hit the ground hard and the air in his lungs rushed between his teeth. Almost defenseless and unable to move for a brief moment, the tiger-wolf saw it and jumped on top of the elf's body, attacking his stunned prey.

It had been so fast and unreal that it took Elrohir a moment to register what had happened. But now it was too late to try and shoot the dog. He could hit Elladan instead. His twin had recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. Both elf and beast where locked in a violent struggle. Roars and yelps emitted from the ground as they both fought to gain control over the other. Elladan was holding to his own quite well for being caught off guard, fast and strong, but the tigerwolf was too and equally relentless, working the elf cruelly with his teeth and claws. Elladan had no such assets; only his bare hands served him now. With hardly bridled rage he tried to pin the tiger-wolf to the ground and keep the beast's foul mouth away from his face.

Legolas and Silme were not faring much better. The tigerwolf that had them cornered had much different tactics than his companion and was keeping them busy. Wild fear made adrenaline course through the mare's body. Filled with terror but determination, Silme began to pummel the ground with her sharp front hooves, trying to catch the tigerwolf with her own deadly weapons. Slamming down hard to the earth Silme made the dirt rise as she tried to stop her opponent.

The tigerwolf was quick, but not quick enough. In moments Silme managed to trap the large dog and mercilessly attack the only way she knew how. In a few well-aimed hits the tigerhound collapsed to the ground, his ribcage shattered. Knowing her enemy was momentarily disarmed, she caught him in her teeth by the scruff of his neck and shook him like a rag doll. The huge animal was dead almost instantly.

Silme calmed a little, but her eyes were still wide, almost completely white. She was as tense as Elrohir's bowstring and when Legolas saw Elladan's predicament his own body matched that of the mare's. Silme couldn't keep all four feet on the ground, prancing and twisting in place.

The last tigerwolf was fighting well, having the advantage his mate had not on the ground. He finally caught a piece of Elladan's left arm and his teeth dug into the soft, virtually unprotected forearm right below the elbow. Elladan let out a small breath of pain and punched the dog hard on the side of the head. The tigerwolf snarled but didn't let go. Rather, he ground down deeper.

"Elrohir! What do we do!" Legolas was watching helplessly as he tried to keep his mare under control, the chore was requiring all of his combined attention.

"I don't know! They are moving far too quickly. If I try to shoot, I could hit Elladan."

Both the elves tried desperately to think of something they could do to get Elladan out of his predicament. A strangled sound came from Elladan's throat. In desperation he rolled over on top of the tigerwolf and tried to trap the dog down with his own weight. It worked, if for only a moment.

The tigerwolf took no pleasure in being pinned. He let go of Elladan's arm unexpectedly and with his front claws digging into the elf's chest his teeth again found flesh, deep in the elder twin's left shoulder. Elladan let out another frustrated cry.

The tigerwolf ripped though the skin and tasted blood. It was in his very nature, his breeding that made him so valuable to his trainer. The bloodlust he had tasted it, and now wanted more.

A sharp whistle sounded from the opposite side of the river.

The tigerwolf stopped and his eyes traveled back to the opposite riverside, still hunched over the tense form of his prey. Elladan ceased to move.

The rider had finally come. He sat quietly on the back of his stallion, watching the battle with interest. He was dressed in dark clothing that helped him blend into the shadows of the forest, his head covered in a hood. On his arm that was protected with leather perched a large bird a falcon. At a small whispered command to the falcon, the bird turned its head toward the tigerwolf and screeched.

_Ah_, Legolas thought. _So that is what I heard earlier._ The tigerwolf growled loudly and even howled a moment through his mouthful, obviously not liking what the falcon was telling him to do. But at another warning call from the bird, the tigerwolf got off of Elladan, and baring his teeth, backed away toward the river and his master. Very obedient animal.

"Legolas."

Legolas turned his attention to the fallen form of the twin on the ground. Elladan looked up at him fiercely, clutching his injured arm to him as he sat up. "Run."

"What?"

"Run! Get out of here. Someone must keep going. Please, keep looking for what we seek, but leave this to me and Elrohir." The twin's voice held a slightly pained edge but remained dead serious.

Legolas hesitated, one eye on the twin and the other on the tiger-wolf. Both were watching him closely.

"Run!" the whispered command was no longer ignored.

Legolas turned Silme around and dug his heels into her ribs. She leapt forward and bolted for the trees. Another sharp whistle sounded from behind him, from the falcon. He glanced back.

The falcon had left his master and was flying toward him, screeching wildly. The tigerwolf snapped his large jaws and he too bolted forward, following swiftly. If the past few moments were evidence to anything, the falcon had just told the tigerwolf to run him down.

"RUN!" Elladan was halfway to his feet, yelling at Legolas again. Elrohir nudged his horse forward quickly, ready to aid his brother.

Elladan ignored his twin and dove for the escaping tigerwolf. He landed right on top of the lithe body, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders and making the animal fall to the ground; snapping evilly.

_Oh no_, Elladan thought fiercely as he again pinned the tigerwolf. _You aren't going anywhere!_ He struggled with the large dog for a few moments until he could find a moment to grab the knife he had been unable to get to earlier. Pulling the knife from the interior of one soft boot he drove the blade deep into the flesh of the tigerwolf's neck. The animal howled in pain and began to struggle to get away. The wound was not fatal, but it took the fight out of the tigerwolf.

Legolas turned around and kicked Silme hard. Yes, he would run, if not willingly, but at the request of one he knew could handle himself. Someone had to make it out.

Injured now and quite angry, Elladan let the animal run from him after a well-earned shove of the knife. The tigerwolf limped away from the elf, almost blindly, shaking his head and neck and whimpering angrily.

Elladan stood and walked slowly toward his brother. Placing one hand on Elrohir's stallion's neck, he inhaled deeply and steeled himself for another fight. Keeping one eye on the being across the small river he waited, ignoring the feel of blood dripping fast down his arm.

000000000000000000

"SKKRRREEEEEEE!"

"Valar, he's seen us!" Legolas hissed to himself. He had been riding for the better part of an hour, urging Silme to run her fastest. His heart was torn at leaving the twins behind and he was desperately worried about them, but he had to trust to hope and the sincerity in the elder twin's eyes. He knew they would be all right.

But right now he wasn't so sure about himself.

_Bloody bird, _Legolas hissed mentally in the direction of the light sound of wings some distance behind him. _What I wouldn't give to break his neck! He'll lead his master right to us!_

Legolas had thought he'd lost the bird a while ago, but the falcon had found him again.

Silme slipped a little on the water-softened rocks below her feet and fell back a pace. Trying to regain her footing, she jumped blindly forward to the bank of the dried up stream. The landing was rough and the mud underfoot was slick. Silme barely managed to keep her legs straight. She made a dead stop.

"Skkrreee!"

"Enough of this madness." Legolas swiftly slid off his mare's back and landed on the dry streambed below. He had no desire to kill the bird, it was completely against his nature to harm them, but something had to be done. Choosing a large rock of adequate size and weight, he waited patiently until the falcon came into view before firing the rock into the air. A direct hit! The falcon screeched again in surprised pain and fell like a rock to the ground.

Problem solved.

Or was it?

Legolas watched the falcon where it had fallen, a distance of only about thirty feet away. At first he thought it might be dead, but then the falcon's head came up slowly and it fluffed around, one wing unfolded and lifeless at its side. Black beady eyes searched this way and that until it fell to the form of the prince standing in the trees, chirping painfully.

The rage ebbed away from Legolas' spirit and the gentle heart returned. The prince loved birds, he had grown up listening to them sing in the forests of his home. He had no real desire to hurt or even kill this one, only to keep it from returning to its master. Was it really the falcon's fault that he was trained like he was? In the falcon's eyes, he had just been disarmed and injured for doing what he was supposed to do, what he thought was right.

Legolas left Silme in the trees and silently walked up the falcon. The black eyes watched the prince's every move, regarding him without sound. When the elf was about five feet away, the falcon cawed softly in warning. He was injured and in no mood to be nice about it.

Legolas sighed. "What am I going to do with you? I can't leave you here, not to be found by your master. You'll lead him right to me. But I don't want to kill you, I'll feel guilty. Not much, mind you," he said warningly as the falcon snapped at him. "But enough."

The falcon seemed to understand the statement and stopped. He was certainly a sorry sight. His left wing and the feathers on one side where rumpled and messy. It hurt him to even try to stand up, and his entire body lay lopsided to keep the hurting wing still. Strapped to both feet where a set of leather straps, training straps, if Legolas knew anything about falcons. Writing had been pressed into the side of one, but Legolas couldn't read it, it was halfway hidden by the falcon's body.

The falcon really was quite fine looking, a dark colored head, back, and wings with a white breast dotted with spots. The sides of his cheeks where flecked with white, and his tail and wing feathers and tints of green, gold, and even dark blue in them. The sunlight was making the falcon flicker with color.

Legolas wasn't sure what to do. He had to keep moving, but he couldn't leave the bird defenseless for some carnivore with an appetite. The only alternative to that was to take the falcon with him.

"I think we could strike up a deal, you and I," Legolas told the falcon. "I'll take you with me if you promise to stay with me. Perhaps in time I will set you free, far from here."

Of course, if the falcon did try anything Legolas would not hesitate in breaking its feathery neck.

The falcon just stared at him. Legolas began to feel a bit foolish, talking to the bird like it was a person, but something told him it didn't matter. The falcon knew what he said, and it understood. It shifted slightly in Legolas' direction, puffing slightly in pain as it moved its injured wing.

But when Legolas tiptoed forward and extended his hand toward the bird, the falcon reared back and cawed at the elf loudly, hissing and spitting. The feathers on his head stood straight up.

Legolas rolled his eyes. He knew what had to be done, and because of his decision he now had virtually no choice in the matter. He left the falcon and returned to Silme's side, untying his blanket from her back. Returning to the angry bird, he threw the blanket over the bird's head and carefully scooped up the struggling bundle.

He couldn't kill the bird, but he couldn't leave him behind either, so against all sane odds Legolas decided that he and the falcon would travel together. He carefully unwrapped the blanket until the falcon's head was poking through the top, and then folded the fabric carefully so the bird couldn't move and further injure his wing. Legolas would take care of that later, when darkness had fallen and when the falcon would let him. Placing the bundle neatly and securely behind his head, between his neck and the quiver strapped to his back. The falcon struggled for a few moments, but soon gave up. His wing was numb and there was no way for him to defend himself now, so he let Legolas take him away.

The prince again mounted his horse, careful of the fragile package on his shoulders and nudged Silme into a run. He didn't know if he was still being followed, but he wasn't going to stick around to find out who would find the loose feathers on the ground.

A few hours later Legolas found a small ravine cut into the side of the mountains and decided to stop there for the night. Silme was weary enough as it was from the fight with the tiger-wolf earlier that day and the consistent travel; the prince was unwilling to push her further. After he had taken care of her and let her loose for the night, he again turned his attention to the falcon.

The falcon had hardly moved since Legolas had set him down, still wrapped in the prince's blanket, and taken care of his mare. He watched quietly as Legolas gathered a bundle of wood and kindling, lighting a small fire to light the swiftly coming darkness. But as soon as Legolas again turned his attention to the bird again, the falcon's beak opened wide and hissed at the elf's approaching fingers.

"Take it easy, I'm only trying to help you," Legolas reached forward and pulled at the blanket, unraveling the falcon's prison. The bird flopped to the ground, trying to hug his smarting wing to his own body. Chirping softly, the falcon nudged his wing and tried to fix the ruffled feathers.

Legolas opened his pack and pulled out some of the venison he had brought with him. Tearing a large piece into falcon-sized bites, he set the venison on his blanket in front of the bird. At first, the falcon eyed the pieces of meat suspiciously, as though he expected them to be poisoned. He twisted his head and looked at them from different angles. Apparently he found nothing wrong with them, and soon he stretched his head forward and snatched a piece of the dried meat. He chirped again, this time a bit happier.

Legolas again searched through his pack, coming up with a pair of leather gloves. There was no way the falcon would let him tend to the wing without biting him, and the elf had no doubt that the ornery little screecher would draw blood without even trying. The prince let the falcon finish eating his share of food before trying.

Just as the falcon was finishing the last few, Legolas noticed the leather straps again, still bound around the bird's feet. One of them did indeed have something written on it, a name stamped into the tough leather. Legolas slowly reached forward and twisted the leather toward the fire to better read it. The falcon didn't react, now accustomed to the quiet elf and did not object.

The leather was worn and scratched, but the name imprinted there was in no way hard to read. Written in an elvish script, it said simply, 'Celebnar.'

"Celebnar?" the falcon looked up and regarded the elf seriously, almost expectantly. Legolas stared back. "Is that your name?"

The falcon chirped.

"You are called Celebnar? Not your master?"

The falcon chirped again.

Legolas was slightly impressed. "You understand me?"

The falcon chirped twice, as if to say _'Yes I can, I just told you twice!'_ The look in the dark eyes that accompanied the non-verbal statement was so absurd that Legolas burst out laughing.

"All right! I understand now. You must have been raised among my people. Well then, I'm glad I know your name at least. Hello Celebnar."

Celebnar chirped happily, obviously glad to hear something familiar again. The bird stared at Legolas for a moment, trying to gauge if the elf was trustworthy. Fate seemed to have placed them together, an unlikely pair. The pain in his wing was increasing and Celebnar was over the edge to really think it through. Carefully he limped over closer to the elf. The falcon fixed his eyes hopefully on Legolas, his plea not lost.

"You want me to help you?" the prince hadn't been expecting the ornery little biter to be the first to ask for help.

Celebnar chirped as Legolas lifted him off the ground and settled the falcon on his lap. A few minutes passed as Legolas worked to understand the bird's injury, comparing one wing to the other and quickly determining the problem. Celebnar had nothing more than a bruised joint and a few strained tendons. If he avoided flying for a few days, he would heal faster. Legolas tore a small length of fabric from his own blanket and gently but firmly bound the falcon's wing to his side so that it lay comfortably in place.

Celebnar had remained surprisingly quiet throughout the whole examination, but by the time Legolas was finished the falcon had bitten right through the elf's tough leather gloves to restrain himself from biting the elf's fingers.

It was a lesson he had been taught well.

Legolas patted the falcon's head softly. "I'm sorry Celebnar, I know that didn't feel too great. If you'll stay off that wing for two or three days you should be flying again. It's not that bad at all."

Leaving Celebnar where he sat by the fire, Legolas began to gather some padding from the forest floor. The trees around this area were completely inadequate for taking protection within the thin, brittle branches. They never would have held up even his light weight. Once he had gathered enough debris from the forest floor it was spread near the fire, and his thick blanket was laid over it. Legolas lay down on his back, listening to the cackle of the fire and allowed himself to be lost in the starlit sky.

A few moments later Legolas was pulled away from the stars at the sound of rustling nearby.

Celebnar was creeping toward him, a very confused look in his dark eyes. There was something different about this elf that had knocked him out of the sky earlier, something he was not familiar with. His real master had never been downright cruel to him, but firm and taught with a hard hand. Celebnar was loyal to his master, fiercely so, but the bond was built on fear and not trust. It was curious and strange to his young mind that he should encounter someone very much like his master and yet entirely different.

This elf did not force him to do anything; not to hunt, not to fly. He refused to let him open his wing, had given him food, and went to the lengths of building a fire even though the night was not cold and did not need the light nor warmth for himself - without making the falcon earn the right first. Perhaps it was his injury that was making him less defensive, but this elf, this strange elf, had shown him more kindness in one day than he had ever seen his entire life and Celebnar responded to that.

Before now he would have had to catch his own food, suffer in silence if he was injured, and rarely ever saw a fire. He was protected from enemies but not often from the elements, and never before had he been allowed to sleep close to his master. His night protection was either the trees or the black horse, but near an immortal's side was unheard of. The falcon was well accustomed to fend for himself to exist solely for himself under the service of another. The fact that Legolas had not moved him to sleep with Silme confused Celebnar greatly, but ever curious, he continued to creep forward, testing the scene.

Celebnar was cold. His wing still hurt a great deal and the pain had weakened his small body. Even fluffed up and cowering close to the ground he could not preserve enough warmth to be comfortable enough for sleep. The closer he got to the small fire and the elf that was watching him, the warmer he became.

Legolas knew nothing of Celebnar's past but he did understand the desire in the falcon's eyes. He shifted slightly to make room next to his shoulder for the falcon, voicing no objection when Celebnar settled close to the side of his head and burrowed into the now familiar warmth of the elf's blanket.

Speaking softly in the grey tongue, Legolas reached one arm up and inched his hand toward the falcon, trying to earn the bird's confidence. Celebnar noticed immediately and growled in an odd way, a sound both cautious and content. The growl slowly changed to a murmur, low and deep, almost like a cat's purr as Legolas spoke even more gently while his fingers lighted on the falcon's back.

Celebnar tensed but did not snap or bite as he would have only hours ago, the pain of his injury and the contentment from the warmth he was not used to enjoying overpowering his sense of self-defense and survival.

Legolas stroked the soft feathers, smoothing them down before traveling up the falcon's body and massaging Celebnar's neck, never breaking his steady flow of elvish. It was a technique he had learned long ago to help with weary animals. Celebnar was easier though, for he had never had such attention before. In hardly a few moments Celebnar turned his head around, gently touching one of Legolas' fingers with his beak as a sign that he was falling asleep. Before Legolas had even curled his arm around the falcon with his hand over his head, Celebnar was breathing softly, his beak buried in the soft feathers of his back.

Legolas smiled. It looked as though he had made a friend.


	7. Who You Think You Are

Chapter 6

**Who You Think You Are**

"What do you want? Who are you!" Elladan yelled across the river at the rider, his voice angrier than one normally heard. Blood continued to trickle down his arm, dripping off his fingers at a slightly alarming rate, but he ignored it.

Elrohir swung off his horse's back and stood behind his brother, again notching his bow if such a turn of events could lead to him needing it again. As for Elladan, his weapons were forgotten on the ground and his knife was still buried in the neck of the last tigerwolf.

A loud, clear voice called back to him. "I bear but a simple message for you."

"A message? Of what, death! Is that why you followed us and tried to kill us!"

The dark elf nudged his horse closer, to the very edge of the water before reining the animal in tightly. "Kill you? Hardly! Only the other, since you foolishly brought him with you. My orders were simple, only the two of you are to make this journey through the mountains. I've been tracking you for days, and getting through the forests of Mirkwood, dark as they are, did not make my finding you easy."

"We had no desire to be found, least of all by the likes of you." Elladan spit out, clearly angry. Elrohir was not far behind him in ire. "What is it that you want of us? I have trouble believing that you have a message only, judging by the way in which you have greeted us."

The elf was unmoved by the accusation, knowing exactly what the twin had been referring to. "Tiger-wolves, as you probably know, are not only known for their loyalty and accuracy in killing but in tracking. I was using them to aide my travels through these woods. You are not of the easiest beings to find, and my need is great." The remaining tiger-wolf made his way wearily to the side of his master, looking back at the twins with nothing but anger and contempt. Fiercely he snapped his jaws and shook his body, trying to remove the knife imbedded in his neck despite the damage it would ultimately do to him.

"Tell us then." Elrohir said forcefully, his bow strung and ready, the arrow tip pointing toward the ground. "What do you desire to tell us? I am correct in assuming that you come under the one named Ralorn, am I not?"

"Bravely spoken, son of Elrond. I wonder how long that will last, for when you met what is coming to you, you may not find it so strong." He spoke just as forcefully as Elrohir had. "An arrogant tongue will not serve you now." The dark elf sighed, as though collecting his thoughts, but in his eyes the look of hate did not fade. It left the twins uneasy and wary as he began to speak. "Here is my message and my warning that I have been bidden to pass on to you." He paused angrily, sorting through his thoughts.

"Do you remember many years ago, when you were both very young and still in the training of warriors, a night when the stables of Imladris lit aflame?"

Of all the things the elf could have said to them, this was the last thing the twins had expected. Like a distant memory buried deep within, it took a moment for them to remember... but remember they did. Memory stretches long and deep in the minds of the Eldar, and with the twins it was no different. Of course they could recall that night. The fire had lit up the sky. It had spread so fast and deadly that the elves of Rivendell almost didn't get the chance to reach the horses within. Some had still perished within the flames and even the head stableman had been trapped forever in an abyss of fire, despite the efforts to get them out.

The elf laughed. "Of course you do. But no one ever found out how it started, correct? No one knew for sure."

"What does that fire have to do with this? That was so many years ago. There are no remaining marks of that fire-"

"Oh, that's where you'd be wrong!" the elf cut Elrohir off, his voice reflecting an anger darker than before. "There are still marks, but it looks as though you've forgotten, haven't you? And I'm sure it would come as a surprise if I told you the fire was of your own making!" he laughed again but shook his head as though he found it sadly humorous that the twins would have no idea, never even entertained such a thought. And they hadn't.

"That's a lie!" Elrohir said fiercely, moving forward to stand next to his brother. "We did no such thing!"

"Ah, but it seems you are forgetting something else. Do you also recall a young buck?"

Both the twins froze at that. The buck... that was so many years ago on what began as a peaceful, starlit night...

_"Elladan, look!" Elrohir pointed out into the darkness, singling out a stumbling, weary animal in the midst of the giant trees. "It's a young deer," he said a moment later, recognizing the soft antlers atop the animal's head. At this time of year, the young elves were sure he was still in velvet, a stage when the antlers were still young and weak before age and work against the trees and each other would harden them. "I think he's wounded." Though the twins didn't know it, the young deer had been caught in a trap some distance from here, set by men and somehow managed to pull himself free, but now his back leg was torn open badly and it buckled dangerously beneath him._

_Elladan saw it too. Both the twins were filled with the desire to go help the struggling animal, but at the same time hesitant. "I don't know, Elrohir," said Elladan carefully. "We aren't supposed to leave our spot, remember?" They had been assigned to watch over the stable areas throughout the night, and not leave the borders unless there was an emergency._

_"But look how close he is," Elrohir pointed to the shadowed figure. "He's coming right toward us anyway." Elrohir was sure the buck was following the only source of light here, of their own elvish glow and the brightly burning lantern behind them in desperation. "It'll only take a minute."_

_"All right, but we must be quick!" Elladan led the way into the trees, leaving most of their weapons and the lantern behind..._

"Remember the lantern?" the elf's voice broke them out of the distant memory. "You were right outside the stables, next to a _haystack_, and you left it there!"

Elladan looked hesitantly at Elrohir, his eyes allowing a little fear to darken them. "Elrohir... did we?"

"I..." Elrohir mirrored his twin's features. "I don't know..."

Horror filled the both of them. Was it true? Was it their fault that such a horrible event had come to pass? They had left the lantern behind, figuring that since they were not going far all would be well, but when they turned around some distance away, the unusually small buck safely held in Elladan's arms, the stable wall closest to them was already nearly engulfed with flames, the smell of burning wood and the smaller sound of terrified horses reaching them at the same moment. Even as they ran back, it never even occurred to them...

No one knew or was sure of the real cause of the fire. There were assumptions and guesses, but the real sure reason remained a mystery. No fingers had ever been pointed at the twins, and the fire was considered an accident.

"How could you know this!" Elrohir yelled at the elf.

"Do you still fail to make the connection between then and now?" the elf stared at them incredulously. "Because there was one who saw you leave your post! One who saw you leave the lantern behind and didn't think anything of it... until it fell on the edge of the haystack he was gathering from and in seconds set the whole dry pile aflame. He ran inside to save the horses on that side of the stables, calling to the others for help, but by the time he had released several horses half the stable was crumbling and when attempting to rescue his own father he was trapped. A burning blanket fell from its peg on the wall and the fire engulfed him as well. He was dragged out, barely alive, half his skin horribly burned. He was lucky, he survived. But his father, the head stableman, didn't make it out so easy."

The twins didn't move, staring wide-eyed at the elf. No, it wasn't possible, it just couldn't be...

"That young elf, just about your age then and now, had to go through weeks and months of healing," the dark elf continued, despite the looks of horror on the twin's faces. "But the burns were so deadly and hard to treat because of the areas covered by the injury that he still to this day retains the marks of that fire, even after the pain of it now is gone. There are still marks; you just haven't had to live with them inside your own little world! You shattered his world, destroyed the only family he had, ruined his chances of making anything of himself in Rivendell by taking away his only friend... and you didn't even know it!"

The elf laughed, but it sounded almost confused now, as if he couldn't understand how the twins could do such a thing.

"He tried to tell others of his knowledge, but that was while in the healing wing and no one believed him, taking his words for injury-induced madness. Then when you drove him out a few years later because of your sister, he lost his chance to demand justice through others and now he desires to seek justice on you himself."

Another event entered Elladan's memory and he shuddered. "Arwen..." he moaned softly.

"Now he wishes to show you what kind of suffering, both body and mind, that he endured. You have been officially summoned by the Lord Ralorn to become subject to his will. You have less than a fortnight to track his path through the mountains and rescue the human from him and take his place. If you don't come, the human will take yours, to endure pain he will never survive that Ralorn now wishes for you."

The elf kicked his horse sharply and turned the animal around, heading back to the trees. The message had been given, his job was done. Now it was time to return home. Just as quickly and violently as he had come, it was strangely opposite in the method with which he left. Like a whisper in the wind, a snarling tiger-wolf limping behind him, he was gone.

§§§

The travel seemed endless. Under normal circumstances Aragorn would have had no problem with how they journeyed farther into the woods that graced the sides of the Hithaeglir, but Ralorn had given strict instruction to Arahil concerning the ranger's well-being. Water was to be given only at night, and food issued in small quantities as Ralorn felt the need to give it. Arahil was inwardly furious by this restriction since Ralorn barely let the man eat, and helplessly had to watch Aragorn's strength dwindle more each day.

They were both under strict watch - Aragorn, known among this group only as Strider, because of his fight with Mayroniel, and Arahil, only because he was new and easy to pick on. The young elf, though very talented in horseback riding, fighting, and hunting, revealed nothing of his past life. Who he was remained hidden information, and it didn't take long for the other guards to notice how different he was. Lom and Mayroniel in particular found this queer and frustrating, but Arahil was not moved by words or threats. He and Aragorn tried to avoid the group as much as possible by small distance alone.

The boy, kept under close watch by Aragorn at all times possible, was dreadfully weary but holding his own strongly, showing remarkable will gained in the absence of true sight and a lifetime of hardship. During the day he was shaky but independent, not wishing that anyone pay any attention to him. At night though, he would always make his way to Aragorn. In the silence that covered the land in the form of darkness made him nervous, doubly blind without the warmth of the sun to keep him going, but he could sleep soundly at the feet of the ranger. It was the only time they spent together now. After the accident with Mayroniel, Ralorn's second-in-command was intent on keeping the two new friends separate as much as possible during the day and had become even more physically aggressive towards Aragorn whenever he could. Arahil was Aragorn's only defense against the abuse, shoving Mayroniel off with calm logic and Ralorn would step in and say it wasn't time... yet.

Ralorn saw all this and was pleased. The ranger was weakening from very hard, forced travel and little to make up the difference. It was so bad that Aragorn actually began to lose weight, and easily became lightheaded and dizzy all the time. Often he would have to ride with Arahil in order to keep up without collapsing under the strain of the sun and his own body. The man was strong, very strong, Ralorn admitted, but not strong enough. The man was draining away and all was going according to plan.

One thing that Ralorn didn't take into consideration was the strength of this man's spirit, untouched behind the physical abuse, unbroken and filled with life still.

They were so close that one night about five days away from Ilmgalad; Ralorn did not allow anyone to stop for rest after the full day's travel. He pushed them forward, knowing full well where they were and how far there was to go.

As night fell in its fullness, Arahil allowed Aragorn to finish what was left of the young guard's water. Arahil feared for the ranger as he watched the man literally try to fall asleep on his feet as he walked. It was not normal exhaustion, the man's strength and alertness was so weakened by nothing taking the place of his reserves.

Arahil knew what Ralorn was trying to do to the man. During the travel the younger elf had learned much of Ralorn and his brutality, and he feared the looks that Ralorn and Mayroniel often shared. He knew Aragorn was in big trouble. Mayroniel's injury still pained him but he hid it well, and more than anything he wanted revenge for the pain. All the elf was waiting for was the right.

Aragorn passed a weary hand over his face and back into his hair, pushing the loose strands out of his eyes. He was so tired. His legs felt like lead, and his stomach pinched with hunger. The water had not helped much, because now with substance his body demanded more of what he could not give.

Arahil shook his head and stopped Asfaloth. Without even requesting permission this time the elf boosted the weary young man over the back of his horse and took the place behind him. Ralorn was distracted from them at the moment and gave no reprimand.

Far off in the distance he could see what he had been hunting for, the entrance to a small cave that would serve his purpose to the fullest. Deep in the mountains and far from worthy help, secluded and safe. He immediately sent Lom and Silore to scout ahead, wanting to make sure the area was secure but confident that, at the moment, nothing lurked.

Aragorn sat up straighter on the white horse, feeling slightly more alive now that he was no longer walking, but his walking pains had been replaced with uncontrolled trembling, something that had nothing to do with the cool night air. Arahil loosened his hold on the man but did not release him entirely, unwilling to chance any fall since he felt sure the man was capable of and at the moment a point Aragorn would not have argued with. The ranger looked up into the inky blackness of the sky and watched the stars twinkle merrily, wishing he was anywhere but here.

Arahil was not focused on the stars but glancing warily around into the woods. He had noticed the silence of the forest a while back before the sun had fallen behind the mountains, but now it felt that the lack of noise was deepening. He had not seen hide nor hint of an animal or bird for an unusually long time. The forest had gone deathly silent. The young elf urged Asfaloth forward, though now he could feel the horse tense underneath him, sensing impending danger he could not name.

Minutes passed swiftly as Ralorn led them straight up the side of the mountain now, all quiet save for the sound of the horses gently crushing the undergrowth as they walked. The horses were a bit nervous for a reason none were sure, but the men remained silent as they went.

About a split second before it happened, Arahil felt a stir within him most unlike what he had felt before, and the wood-elves in front of him stopped in confusion. It would not last long.

The ground beneath them began to rumble, a tremor held deep within the earth. It all seemed to happen at once, a small shudder that shook the earth and caught all by surprise.

It didn't last long. After about five seconds the vibrations ceased. Arahil had to use much of his strength to keep Asfaloth on all fours as the horse stamped around in shocked fear. Aragorn tried to help, patting the horse on the neck and wearily speaking comforting words until the stallion stilled under the calm treatment.

It felt as if nothing had really happened, all the shuddering of the earth fading to nothing. The damage the small earthquake had done was minimal, barely noticeable. Some weaker, rotting trees had fallen to the ground and rocks of all sizes had found a new resting spot farther down the mountain, but as for Ralorn and his guard no injury had be taken at all.

Ralorn galloped his horse to where Arahil, Aragorn, and Asfaloth were, checking on them. "Are you all right?"

Arahil could still feel Asfaloth shaking a bit beneath him and Aragorn fared little better, both disturbed by the slight movement of the earth.

"Yes," he told the elf. Such as it was, yes.

"Don't fear the trembling earth," Ralorn said, though his voice lacked all encouragement. "This far into the mountains there are frequent tremors. It is not unusual and that one was hardly worthy of remembrance. Let's keep moving." He wheeled his horse around and resumed his course, and a moment later Arahil urged Asfaloth to join him, again focusing on the task at hand.

A few hours later, as dawn filtered through the shadow of night, they reached their destination. Nestled in the side of the mountain and almost hidden from view was the cave Ralorn knew to be there. The entrance was a hidden, haunted sight. The opening cut into the surface of the mountain like a small but deep gouging scar upon the rocks. Beyond it lay a labyrinth of sorts, though its tunnels did not stretch far from the open air, nor deep into the ground. The walkways were tall and wide but unsupported by anything more than rock and earth, and after so many times of being touched by the elements the lower tunnels were weakening, more in danger of collapsing than the stronger ones near the door.

Ralorn knew all this. He had known of this cave for a long time in time long past and far beyond the count of an average human's life, for he had dwelt here once when he was young. His lip curled at the thought of those days, months, years... it was of no matter anymore. He was doing exactly what he had planned during his self imposed exile in the mountains, after a deep wrong had been dealt to him. It was all going to start, and end, right here.

He turned to Arahil. "Take him inside," his voice deep and filled with amused anger.

Arahil balked slightly at the thought of entering the cave. He had no love for them and something in his gut warned him against it. But under the piercing glare of Ralorn, he couldn't back away. Nothing could risk his part in this nightmare; he couldn't let them know anything about what he planned to do. Slowly, he slid off Asfaloth's back and helped Aragorn dismount. As they passed Ralorn, the elf was not hesitant to suddenly shove Aragorn in the back, nearly knocking the young man off his feet. Arahil made no move to help; he couldn't revile against abuse that Ralorn gave himself. His eyes shadowed considerably.

Aragorn quickly righted himself, looking back with a mask of barely restrained annoyance. Ralorn ignored the look. "Take the main path. Pass the first five offshoots and look for a heavy wooden door. Put the human inside the room when you find it, lock the door, and come back quickly. There is much still to prepare for." He handed Arahil a ring of keys, pointing out the correct one.

Mayroniel, Lom, Silore and the other guards returned after quickly securing the area. There had been nothing about, and the small tremor seemed to have helped that. Following Ralorn into the cave, they took their horses and entered. Nothing marked their passing as they vanished under the cover of the night and into the darkness of the mountain.

Arahil led Aragorn down the cave hallway, passing by the first five pathways that shot out from the main path. The tunnel was long and deep, descending downwards and it did not help any that Lom was following them, pushing the ranger at random intervals and ignoring Arahil's implores to leave the man alone. They came to a large wooden door – the only one in the cave – Arahil unlocked the door and lead Aragorn inside.

The interior room was small and both Arahil and Aragorn were surprised to find the walls to be made of wood and not just bare earth as they expected. Into three places on the far wall and to the right of the doorway chains had been bolted deeply into the wood.

Aragorn immediately hated the room. It spoke of nothing but evil and despair, the perfect place to be locked away with almost no hope of escape. He balked slightly upon entering and Lom shoved him forward, making him fall to the dirt ground.

"Get in there."

Arahil glared at the other elf and knocked his hands away, pushing him out of the room. "Get out of here Lom. It is not your place to even touch him."

Arahil looked down at Aragorn, who had turned around on the ground but not risen yet, and aside from the weariness that was now etched into his face his eyes burned with anger. He was so tired of this. So tired of the abuse and the fear. Arahil glanced at him apologetically and shut the door after he stepped out. He didn't want the ranger to get in any more trouble and though he hated the fact that he had to, he locked the door. At least that way, no one could get inside.

Lom glared back at Arahil. "Why do you defend him so much? He is human, he is nothing! A disgrace to this world. Humans only know the path to destruction and anger, and yet you shield him?"

"Destruction and anger?" Arahil gazed hard back at the elf, his eyebrows rising. "And this is different how to the way in which you treat others? Yes, I protect him, but that is because he is under my charge, not yours. He is not to be harmed by you, you hypocritical whelp."

Lom's gaze turned flinty. "You dare compare what I do and what they do? I protect our kind from evil creatures such as that one! He and the boy, they should both be killed, and the world would remember them no more. Man cares not for his own kind, all are a liability. They defile us. We would be better off without any of their race."

"That is not your place to decide and it's outside your control alone," Arahil replied evenly, though his eyes snapped fire. "There is much you have yet to learn. You have allowed arrogance and lust for power blind you! You know nothing of what you speak, and your cold heartedness is shameful."

"This is what Ralorn works for, and you defy him as well?"

"Ralorn has a more level head than you. Get out of here, be useful elsewhere, and leave the man and the boy alone."

Lom began backing away, knowing he had lost the battle of words but could not help the need to leave behind a stinging barb. "Sometimes I wonder whose side you're on. You like humans, don't you?" Arahil looked at him fiercely, and Lom knew he had found a chink in the wall of silence. "Anyone who would lay claim to such a foul race is a traitor to me."

"What I see is a lot of strong talk in front of a cowering fool. Leave, and do not open your filthy mouth again!" Arahil walked up to Lom without flinching in the slightest and shoved the other around, forcing him back up the cave tunnel. Lom went, but before he disappeared he turned back around and leveled Arahil with a knowing smirk.

"Arrogant fool. He knows not of what he speaks." Arahil turned sadly away. Lom may have thought he had found something, but Arahil knew full good and well it wouldn't do him any favors. Shaking his head, he sighed and checked the door to be sure it was secure, then followed the path Lom had taken to the surface and gain further instruction from Ralorn.

Outside, Ralorn was standing just beyond the entrance, watching the brightening sky closely. The rest of the guard was inside the cave, working on the projects assigned to them. Most of the horses had gone in the cave as well, but Asfaloth had refused to follow Arahil into the depths of the earth. Rather, the powerful stallion was content to wait outside for his master, and Arahil trusted the horse to not wander away and come when called.

"Arahil," Ralorn spoke without moving from where he stood; knowing full well that the other elf was listening. "Since you will probably have better luck than the rest of my men, I need you to go hunt. Much of what we have brought with us is gone. Take your horse, and take down a deer that we may eat. I know not how long we will be here as of yet."

"Where shall I go to hunt? The earthquake seems to have driven away much game from this area."

"Head back the way we came. I do not think it will take you more than half a day to find a herd of adequate quality. I would send someone with you to help, but I feel that would be unwise. There is much I need to prepare for and I can spare no one else. Keep an eye out though. Orcs are rare in these parts but they are not uncommon either, so don't get caught by them."

"I will, and I will go where you bid." Arahil looked up hesitantly, unsure of how his next question would be responded to. Carefully, he watched Ralorn's reaction.

"What of the man, Strider? Who will watch over him while I am away?"

Ralorn turned a little tense and cold. "Do not concern yourself with the older human. He will not leave the room you have put him in until he is needed, of that I can assure you. Now go Arahil, and return swiftly. I may have need for you as well, before this is over."

"As you wish." Arahil whistled for Asfaloth and the stallion came right to him. As he mounted, Arahil wondered about what Ralorn meant about Strider not being bothered until he was needed. He wanted to know when the man would be of use, but Ralorn's mood had turned sour and Arahil knew it would be unwise to ask. So instead he faked an air of indifference and nudged Asfaloth the way they had come, hoping Ralorn would suspect nothing was amiss. Concern filled him though. Speed would be needed if he was going to make it back before darkness fell.

000000000000000000

Aragorn was still glaring after Arahil shut the wood door and left the windowless room in utter darkness. Lom infuriated him and surprisingly enough he could admit that he was not afraid of the elf. Wary, yes; but afraid, no.

He heard muffled voices of the two elves arguing on the other side, but he could hear enough to know what it was that they spoke about. He was aggrieved that Arahil had to defend himself in such a way, but the elf had been right the day he had taken on the responsibility of being Aragorn's guard. None of the other elves had even guessed that Arahil was not who he seemed, and even though Aragorn had no idea who Arahil really was, nothing said ever went in that direction of thought. Arahil guarded himself very well. Quickly however, the voices faded away and he was left completely alone.

The ranger backed up into one corner of the room, pressing his back against the walls and bringing his knees to his chest. He didn't know how long he would be stuck here, and the darkness was crushingly harsh. He was blind as much as the young boy was.

Nervous curiosity came with that line of thought. Where was the boy right now anyway? Aragorn hoped he was all right. He had grown quite fond of the teenager in the short time they had been together, and the boy seemed quite attached to him. Aragorn was a bit surprised to find that he was rather fond of the boy and seemed to have taken upon himself a title and a burden he had never had before – an older brother.

Relief came to him with that thought. Aragorn finally knew what to call the blind fifteen-year-old who had made such a mark in his heart.

"Little Brother," The ranger spoke into the darkness of the room, and it didn't feel so crushing anymore. "... Little Brother."

000000000000000000

Silore roughly shoved the blind boy into a corner of an unfamiliar room. "Don't move from that spot boy," the elf hissed at him before turning away, returning to the others to take care of their horses.

The boy listened to the footsteps fade farther away and then suddenly stop, near to where he could hear the horses and perhaps two other elves. Sounds of the beings immersing themselves in their work began, caring for their horses with a gentleness that was never laid on him. The horses were a bit uneasy for being in a cave such as this; the boy could sense it in the gentle sounds they made. The elves attempted to soothe them as they worked, though it did little good.

The boy didn't like it here either. It was the first time he had been in a cave in his life, and this was no experience he relished in. The cave was damp and dank. Edges of fear filled his heart. He didn't like it here. If he had anything to give he would have given it to not be within the depths of the earth.

He wished for the protection of the ranger. He was worn and tired, but he could find no rest outside the watchful eye of the older man. His body remained very awake, in fear of what may happen should he try to take his rest alone. The guards were routinely cruel, even when he tried to sleep. The boy suddenly made the decision that he would not stick around long enough for these elves to finish. If he was going to go search the cave for the man or even a way out, he best leave now when the guards were working and distracted.

Recalling the directions he had come from, the boy had a pretty good idea as to where he needed to go to get out. It mattered not if he escaped to the clutches of the wilds or the protection of the man, either way meant placing that much more room between the abuses of the guards. He didn't care if he died for it nine years was a long time to be in the captivity of another and he was sick of it. It had probably been too long already, but chances like these did not happen often and the guard was lax. It was fatal for them and an opportunity for him.

Pressing his hands against the ground he adjusted his stance until he knelt on all fours, ready to depart. Listening frantically he waited until he was sure the guards' attention was not on him. Even though he felt he had nothing to lose, he was still afraid of what would happen if he were caught. Keeping one hand on the wall and the other on the ground, he silently made his way back in the direction he was sure he had come.

The guards paid him no heed. One of the horses had split his hoof, and the guard working with him had requested the others to help keep the animal still while he took care of the problem. Their attention was on the task at hand and off of him for a moment. The moment was all the boy needed. He figured being beneath the earth had dulled some of the senses they never failed to remind him of. The boy was smirking slightly as he slunk away.

Keeping his hands on the cold earthen wall, the boy turned left down the main tunnel and gained his feet once he was sure he was in the doorway no more. Keeping his body steady and his ears open, he crept down in the direction he was sure the entrance laid. Better to die free than in bondage. Suddenly, he caught the sounds of a clear elven voice, speaking somewhere close by.

"... here soon. Send out two of the guards to keep watch some distance from here, Mayroniel. I want to be ready should anyone come, there can be no surprises. I've already sent out Arahil to hunt. Pity really, he's strong when it comes to fighting, but I don't know exactly where his loyalties lie. Some of his actions unsettle me."

The boy stopped dead. Ralorn! The voice sounded a little muffled, as though it were coming through a wall. Ralorn must have been in another cave room, talking to Mayroniel. The boy followed the direction of the voices, getting as close as he dared before stopping to eavesdrop. They were talking about Arahil and that would most certainly lead to Strider. The boy knew very little about Arahil, but he knew where the elf's heart lay, and it was not where Ralorn and Mayroniel would have wanted it to be.

"Yes, I've noticed it too. He has quite a bit of spirit but I don't think he agrees with you entirely. He protects the human and I don't think he likes the idea of you hurting him."

"Parhaps if he knew the whole story of why I desire this revenge so much. Alas, he does not yet know. Many do not know. Not even those fool twins of Rivendell know."

There was much bitterness in Ralorn's voice. In all the years the boy had been under the elf's thumb, he had never heard Ralorn speak so. Beneath the words were many emotions – many feelings Ralorn allowed few to see. There was much anger yes, but also frustration and hurt. These confused the boy. Mayroniel had been with Ralorn for many, many years, the most loyal guard the elf had. They shared many of the same views on life, worked together for centuries, and if possible, Mayroniel was much colder in his regard for existence in general. When Ralorn had finally told Mayroniel about his past, the second-in-command had taken it upon himself to help Ralorn in his quest for vengeance. Vengeance that would most certainly end in many deaths.

"Do you plan to tell them when they get here?"

"Yes, I'm sure as I watch them die slowly I will tell them the story of their ignorance. They proclaim to be so good and wise. Liars, the both of them."

"My lord, I have been meaning to ask you. When will the man be given back to me?"

"It will not be long at all now Mayroniel, I know you wish to punish the human for the loss you have suffered. All I ask is patience my friend. You will have your chance. Today even, if all goes well."

"Thank you lord, you are most kind. It was wise of you to send Arahil away to hunt, he would not have liked it, possibly rejected it."

"Why do you think I sent him? He may be the best hunter of us all surprisingly, but there were more reasons to him going than just his skill. There's something wrong with him, something just doesn't work out the way it should."

"I'll keep an eye on him when he returns my lord. If anything is amiss and I have proof of it, I will inform you immediately."

"Good. Now, about the human..."

"Yes lord?"

The boy froze again, pressing his head to the wall and listening intently now.

"From here on out, if anything goes wrong, he is to be killed. No exceptions. The only way he walks out of here alive is if the twins do not. I also want any disobedience to be taken care of with swift harshness, understand? He must know, as the twins will find out, what it means to cross me."

"My lord, I-"

"There he is!"

The boy spun around, his heart jumping into his throat. The guards had realized his disappearance and come to search for him. He could hear their harsh breathing and the sounds of their feet on the ground. He could do nothing, couldn't even run as a normal person would have to escape a threat. He had waited too long. He was caught!

Hands were suddenly all over him, lifting him from his crouched position and into the choking grip of one guard. The elf that held him was speaking in his native tongue, the sounds of the elvish language not a soothing sound but a curse to the boy. He flinched and recoiled away, shutting his eyes tightly. Every time he heard it out of the mouths of these guards it sounded dark and evil. They knew it had that kind of an affect on him, and used it to infuriate him when he did wrong in their eyes.

Sounds of more beings came to him. Ralorn and Mayroniel must have joined the small group of the three elves that had just recaptured him. The boy was endlessly frustrated with himself for not even getting far at all, but now he knew what they were planning to do to Strider. The knowledge came back to him and he shuddered, not out of fear from his situation this time, but fear for his friend. He had to find the man!

"The boy tried to escape again my lord," one of the guards informed Ralorn. "He did not get far but this is not the first time."

"How did he get by you?" Ralorn's tone was flinty, but he would listen to the reason.

"Forgive us lord, one of the horses had a split hoof and we were trying to make him more comfortable. The boy snuck out on us while we were working."

Ralorn sounded angry but the boy could tell it was all directed at him. For all his hatred and faults Ralorn was a smart leader. He did not punish any of those who were loyal to him unless they directly crossed his wishes, and the elf could understand becoming distracted while taking care of an injured horse. The guards would be reprimanded harshly for letting their attention slip, but the full brunt of the boy's attempt to run away would fall to the perpetrator himself - and right then.

The boy had no warning as someone smacked him hard across the face with an open palm. "Trying to run again, boy? You think that after nine years of you trying to escape while dead blind would ever succeed?"

It was Ralorn, always Ralorn... but this time there was something different in the elf's voice. Something that sent terrifying chills down the boy's spine.

He had changed much in those nine years, growing from a small six-year-old to a strong fifteen-year-old. Much had changed, but not the elf's perception of time. These nine years had been almost nothing to Ralorn, but he knew now was the time to do something or else he would be waiting on the boy for the rest of the child's life. He wanted something only the boy could give.

"You probably thought that with all I'm trying to do right now that I'd forget about you. Well, I've got news for you boy. I'm not playing your little games anymore. I want to know where that treasure is that your father made or you won't live to see the end of the fortnight. I suggest you get your tongue working before then or you can trust me on this if you don't on anything else – you will beg for death before the end!"

A hot slick of rising fear filled the boy's stomach at those words. Ralorn turned his attention to the other guards present, speaking clearly so the boy would be sure to understand.

"Mayroniel, you and the others take him and teach him well. You know the new rule. When he has learned, take him to the room where the man is and lock him up as well."

"Yes, my lord."

The boy began to struggle again violently, but the elf who held him twisted his arm behind his back until he was just short of breaking it. The boy cried out at the abuse, clenching his teeth in a grimace and still refusing to open his eyes... or his mouth. He had sworn to himself, on his dead father's grave, that he would never speak to Ralorn or any who worked for him and that wasn't about to change.

Ralorn noted the defiance that was still in the boy's actions and made one last request to Mayroniel before the elf left. "Oh, and Mayroniel? Make sure he will never be able to run again."


	8. To The One Who Knows

Chapter 7

**To The One Who Knows**

The boy struggled weakly in the arms of his guard, but in moments the last of the fight he had in him ebbed away. Pain consumed him, ripping apart his mind in detrimental ways.

Ralorn had not been kidding and Mayroniel had done all that was required of him. The boy wanted to scream, wanted to yell at the guards to just let him die in peace, wanted, for just a moment... to be free. Not left in this pain-filled world where he could find no peace of mind, where nothing was his own and no one on his side.

He was pathetic, he was weak. Ralorn and his men had never failed to remind him of the faults he could not control. But Ralorn was wrong. To survive as a prisoner under the leadership of the elf required a strength of mind and will. Required a hardness of heart to all beings and all hurt, and such qualities the boy did possess.

Hot waves of agony filtered though his senses and the boy could notice little else. He clutched his leg just above the knee, literally trying to cut off blood flow so the pain would lessen. The guard was not handling him gently, but not roughly either, just lazily. The boy just clenched his jaw tightly, though he could tell the injury was quickly going to get the best of him.

He had never been injured this badly before. Ralorn had always been intent on all his captives being able to travel under any circumstances, but now it was different. It seemed that Ralorn had been more than telling the truth earlier, no, he was enforcing it by living it.

Two guards where accompanying him to a certain room, the only one apparently in this cave that had both a door and a lock. In a cave, that also meant no windows. If they left him there in the dark the boy knew he would never come back out. He could feel his body slipping away from his control.

There was a click of a lock and wood groaned slightly under the small effort to push it away. The boy barely registered it when the elf that held him set him down on the ground a bit roughly. He hunched where he lay, curling his upper body over his leg and still clutched it in the same place. He was not chained in place as he expected to be, the guards must have figured he wouldn't be able to handle that. The boy realized that the guards hadn't left immediately, apparently talking to another person in the room a moment before leaving and closing the door behind them.

After what felt like a moment or an eternity, the boy felt himself being lifted up into another set of strong arms, but this time all actions were of the utmost gentleness as he was settled against one wall. Hands suddenly touched his own, trying to get him to let go of his leg. The boy could feel blood running down the side of his face from some injury to his head, but he couldn't feel the sharpness of that injury as he could feel the deep ache of his knee. Pain flared hotly as his grip was broken, and with a rush of darkness over his mind the boy knew no more.

Aragorn quickly checked the boy's vitals and discovered he had blacked out only, but his body went limp and his breathing ragged. As painful as it must be, the man knew it would be better this way. He had best do what he could about the leg before any more damage was done, and immediately set to work, bringing closer the lantern the guards had left behind for him, the only tool he had been given.

As he worked, Aragorn was raging in his head. So this was the result of the faint yelling he had heard earlier. The boy's knee had been dislocated and his kneecap cracked. The middle of his leg was swelling to three times its size. It was not the only injury he bore, but it was the worst.

The healer within the ranger took over. With a firm and steady hand he reset the bones in place in the most painless way he knew how, holding the boy down gently as his body arched painfully without any of the mind's consent. Aragorn was frustrated by the fact that there was nothing he could use to bind the injury effectively; the boy would just have to avoid using his leg as much as possible. Using strips from his tunic the man bound the freely bleeding wounds that decorated the sides of the younger man's face, pinching off the tears in the skin until they would repair themselves.

When he had done all he could do, Aragorn sat back and looked at the boy carefully. He was resting easier now, his breathing less ragged and his body no longer moving in distressed motions. But his face was anything but peaceful, anything but the sound and relaxed expression that attested to the promise of healing in sleep. The boy's face was wincing and his jaw clenched tightly in pain and desperate fear. One of the last driving instincts held him still, the fear of falling unconscious alone and the knowledge of how very alone he felt, remembering nothing that would convince him that he was not.

Aragorn's heart went out to the boy, wanting above all else to forever remove the fear from the young face and replace it with confidence he deserved. But he couldn't do that yet, couldn't do it in the blink of an eye. It would take time and patience on his part. But there was something he could give the boy now, by being a beacon of light in this dark place. So Aragorn gathered the unresponsive boy into his arms so he could gain strength from the assurance that he was not alone, and at last began to sing, the ranger's voice deep and soft as he recounted the words of the song he had sung on that not too distant day in Ilmgalad. The boy began shaking his head weakly, his mind being drawn to the conscious world at the sound of another speaking.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna míriel, o menel aglar elenath!"

The boy tensed in his arms, vividly hearing the elvish words and his body easily responding to what it believed to be the words of anger and hate. But then suddenly he stopped moving. These elvish words sounded almost... different to him. Not angry, but endearing and peaceful, almost another language entirely by the sound of it alone. And he had heard it just once before, the memory allowing his wary body to relax slowly, caught up in the soft tenor of the older man's voice.

"Na-chaered palan-díriel, o galadhremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon-"

"I remember that song." A soft, slightly raspy voice unexpectedly gave praise to the song.

Aragorn jumped at the unfamiliar voice, looking wildly about the room in search of the cause. The lantern flickered brightly, revealing no one aside from him and the boy. Then who-

"I remember that song," the voice persisted again, and this time Aragorn looked down at the boy to find the teenager looking right back at him. The ranger's eyes widened in sheer surprise.

"You can speak?" Aragorn whispered, completely taken aback. Mayroniel had told him the boy hadn't spoken in years, but he had failed to mention that it was of the boy's own choice.

The boy nodded almost inperceptively, surprisingly comforted a little by the older man's question and obvious amazement. It was of his own choice that he did not speak to those who had destroyed his life, but the ranger was a friend. Now that they were alone for the first time, far away from the wandering eyes and ears of the guards, he would willingly speak to the ranger to ease his heart.

"Yes. I have always been able to, but never in the sight of the guards."

"Why do you not?" Aragorn could barely believe he was having a real conversation with the teenager after so many of only his voice.

The boy shifted uneasily in the man's arms again, though his eyes remained blank. "Because Ralorn killed my father. I do not speak in his presence, or any of those who follow him."

"Why do you speak to me now?" Aragorn shifted around the boy, leaning the teenager against the wall and settling down in front of him, the initial shock wearing away but amazement still in his actions.

"Because you have been my friend from the beginning, and I trust you. Not only that, but I have much to tell that you need to know." The boy winced suddenly, his hands falling back to the injured knee. Unbound, aching, and swollen, it was giving him much trouble. Aragorn however batted his hands away from the injury for fear that he would make it worse if he touched it.

"Your knee has been badly dislocated and I have done what I can, but with nothing to bind and splint it with I fear you will damage it more should you try to move it. Please, Little Brother, don't move your leg."

The boy glanced up vaguely at him, a little confusion lacing his tone. "Little Brother?"

"It's..." Aragorn suddenly felt a little foolish. "It's what I thought I'd begin to call you, since I do not know your real name."

The boy smiled a little around his pain, pressing back against the wall as he relaxed further. "The name my father gave me was Gowen. But I like the name you gave me."

"Gowen?" Aragorn never thought it would be so wonderful to discover a true name! "If you would rather, I will call you by your rightful name."

"No, no, please," Gowen quickly refused. "I would prefer the one you gave me, at least here."

"All right then," Aragorn agreed. "I will call you what you wish, although," the man laughed softly as a thought hit him. "It seems as though neither of us will go by our rightful names."

"I always thought Strider sounded more like a nickname." Gowen smiled again. "What is your true name?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Forgive me, but that would be unwise for me to tell you here. Perhaps one day I will, but not now."

Gowen was not offended. "I understand. But I need to tell you something you may want to hear."

"What happened?" Aragorn was suddenly brought back to the moment, and why they were in these circumstances. "Why were you hurt?"

"Two reasons. My own foolishness, and a conversation about you and your guard, Arahil."

Gowen now found himself claiming all of the ranger's attention and haltingly began to speak, bringing slowly back to memory the conversation that had occurred between Ralorn and Mayroniel. It looked as though Ralorn had not guessed the boy had been eavesdropping, everyone had naturally assumed that he had been trying to escape only. It was very strange to him, having to be the one to talk rather than listen, but Gowen was glad for the change and relieved that he could tell the ranger of what was going to happen, what Ralorn had planned for the man and his brothers.

Aragorn leaned up against the wall next to the boy when Gowen had finished, sighing. Now he knew where Arahil was, and what Ralorn was doing. His outlook was beginning to blacken further. Worry and frustration mixed with his weariness and fear, making everything harder to accept.

"Why does Ralorn hate your brothers so much? They are elves, are they not?"

"Yes, they are elves, and I do not understand why Ralorn would choose to hate them."

"If they are elves, they must be cruel." There was so much bitterness in Gowen's voice. From the way Ralorn and the twins seemed to regard each other, it was easy to assume that elves did not get along with their own kind. It made Aragorn's heart ache. The only contact Gowen had had with the Eldar had been horrifying and at best painful. There was much more he needed to learn. Both of them were aching inside and Aragorn knew he needed to do something about it. Perhaps his brothers, without even being present, could help with that.

"Not my brothers. Trust me Little Brother; you would never meet more light-hearted beings. I grew up with Elladan and Elrohir as my older brothers, not by blood but by the claim of the heart, yet I would love them no less had I been born directly into their family. You must believe me when I say that I do not understand why Ralorn would lay such a blood claim on them. It confuses me and I know there is much I do not know still."

Gowen nodded slowly, though his voice belied the fact that he needed convincing still. Aragorn as of yet had said little of his brothers, fearing the wrath of the guards should someone overhear him, and now the boy was curious. "Can you tell me about them?"

"Where would I start?" Aragorn leaned his head back, wondering. Now that they were alone to speak of any of the heart's desires, the ranger didn't know where to begin. "I lost my parents when I was very young, but they found me and took me to their home, an elven haven called Rivendell."

Gowen nodded slightly. "I have heard that name before, Ralorn has spoken of it a few times, but he does not like to."

"Ai, but it is a wondrous place. It is the realm of a powerful elf lord named Elrond that I know as my foster-father. He is wise and strong in the art of healing. Elladan and Elrohir are his twin sons. I grew up there, and they were my family..."

Aragorn went on, almost losing himself in the warm thoughts and the comfort of thinking about home. The fond memories allowed him to forget the suffocating darkness for a while and also allow a temporary relief to the boy who sat next to him. For a long time Aragorn weaved story after story about his older brothers, telling Gowen about their strength, protectiveness, loyalty, and absolute love for life.

Gowen was amazed by the tales. He had only ever been around elves that were cruel-hearted and terrifying; he had never considered the fact that other elves may not be the same in personality toward all others. Curiosity drove him to ask questions, desiring to know all about the beings that had made such a mark in the man he knew only as Strider, and to which the man was only too happy to comply. Answering a question about talent in archery though, lead to thoughts of Legolas.

"When I was a bit older I met another elf who lived in another elven realm across the mountains from my home. He became the best friend I've ever had; he is as dear as a brother to me..."

And the ranger was off again like a barely released bottle of energy.

Gowen became enraptured by the stories of Aragorn, his life, and the people in it. It was so contrastingly different from everything he had known in the majority of his youth. It brought him back to when he was much younger, before Ralorn had come and he, his father, and his older brother had still been a family. He had been so happy in the time before he had lost his sight due to an accident and then his father's murder barely a year later. Life had been as full as the ranger's. Gowen listened to Aragorn's every description of his family and friends, becoming as familiar with Elladan, Elrohir, and even Legolas' personalities as anyone else's, for that was how he learned about others. Since he could not see them, he took in anything he could find about looks and tried to draw a mental picture of each one. Before the ranger had finished, Gowen had vivid pictures in his mind of the ranger's brothers and best friend, and if put to the test, could have probably picked them out of a crowd so long as the man had not exaggerated any of the traits.

It wasn't for nearly an hour that Gowen finally realized how much time had gone by. The ranger had distracted him from both his physical pain and the passing of the day. Almost inperceptively, he could feel his eyes growing heavy, and before he knew what had happened, his head fell forward to rest against his chest and his mind knew no more.

Aragorn was startled at first to find the boy out again, but smiled when he discovered Gowen to be asleep only. As he knew from personal experience, story-telling, especially when it involved his brothers or best friend, was a nearly fool-proof way to distract a patient from whatever ailed them. It had even worked on him too this time. Thinking of home had always lightened his heart, and in this dark place, it was what he needed to go on.

While Gowen slept, Aragorn sat next to him, deep in thought. His eyes lingered on the lines of the young boy's face that was loosing its soft edges, giving way to the firm strong features of an adult. Almost into his sixteenth summer, Gowen had the look and build of a fighter. He was lean and tall, but strong in body as well as mind. Long shoulder-length russet hair spilled about his face and over his shoulders, giving him a very dangerous look, but his eyes gave him away. His lack of sight had given him reason to never truly harden his gaze, and his soft eyes held the deep sparkle of a child. The sparkle was in distress though, and constant abuse and darkness kept pushing it farther away.

The ranger sat close by, watching silently. It was an uneasy sleep the boy had fallen into, neither peaceful nor healing. Gowen's face winced in the pain of his injuries, and soon his body began to tremble; not from cold, but from fear. Aragorn could tell the boy was still afraid of many things, most of which he could not even begin to guess.

Gowen had helped him and listened to him, now perhaps it was time to reverse the roles. Aragorn had a feeling that there was much more Gowen needed to say, and not about the future.

After nearly an hour of fruitless slumber, Gowen rolled sideways farther down the wall and wearily opened his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, it always ended the same. He could never sleep peacefully, he hadn't in years. With the ranger he found rest easier, but only by a little. There was much his body needed to unlearn, but old habits die hard and in his current situation his senses where on fire and nothing would convince it of otherwise.

"Little Brother..." Aragorn's voice beaconed him back to the waking world, though he did not have far to go. Sitting up a bit straighter he passed a hand over his face. His head felt so heavy, and he could give it no respite in this room. There was a lingering evil feeling here that disturbed him.

"Hey, Little Brother." Gowen gave a small smile at the sound of the ranger's voice. It was deep and warm, filled with genuine compassion and concern. After so long of being starved of both qualities, the boy easily accepted them both and allowed them to bring him some measure of peace.

As if there had never been a break in their conversation, Aragorn introduced a question of his own. "So why are you here?"

Gowen shook his head and laughed a little, though the sound of it came off as quite regretful. "A very stupid reason."

"I'm listening."

"In a nutshell? A rumor about a treasure that was never true." Gowen clasped his hands together and rolled his thumbs over each other. "My father was a builder, an artist, a sculptor, and those who knew him loved his work. Some of my earliest memories are of watching him at his desk, carving a piece of wood or painting a trunk he had designed himself."

"So why would Ralorn have any interest in him, or you for that matter?" Aragorn was still confused. Why would an elf such as Ralorn desire anything from humans considering the fact that he obviously held no love for the races of men? It was odd and made no sense.

"He could make almost everything with any kind of compound or material. Fabrics, rock, glass, metal, leather, shells... you name it, he could have used it, and used it well. Because of that, my father became quite well known and his work sought after. My older brother had no real interest in the trade, but I took a liking to it from the time I could walk. He taught me everything I wanted to know. I loved it dearly. My favorite thing to do was sculpt animals, especially horses." There was a flicker of amusement in Gowen's voice that made Aragorn look at the boy more curiously. He was however, not expecting Gowen to say what he said next.

"It's ironic really, since horses are the reason I am blind."

Aragorn's eyes went wide. "You weren't always..?"

"No... no. Until I turned five I was any other child you would normally meet. It was an accident, I know that very well, but still, they are the reason."

"Will you tell me?"

Gowen pushed off the wall and drew his good leg up to his chest, leaning forward as he considered his answer before opening his mouth. "There was a fire in the stables one night. My father and brother woke me late in the evening, wanting to take me with them rather than leave me alone at home. Since my mother passed on almost right after I was born my father was always protective of me, and didn't trust that I would be safe at our house by myself. He bundled me up and the three of us left to help."

Gowen's blank eyes squinted a bit in frustration, for it was so hard for him to remember all that had happened, the end result having stolen some of his memory of that night – fragments he could never find though he tried. "Much of what happened escapes me, though I do remember wanting to help my family save the horses. Ignoring the request of my father to stay away from the burning stable I ran to help, but somehow the stable door burst open and the horses ran outside to escape the fire. They were badly frightened, and soon so was I. Caught in the middle of a stampede, I tried to escape them, but one reared up and struck down on the back of my head. I remember little of the actual event, other than what others have told me."

The boy leaned over slightly and pushed some of his hair away from the nape of his neck, exposing a half moon shaped scar. From the size and depth of the mark, Aragorn could tell the horse had struck hard and deep, cutting vital muscles and completely severing Gowen's ability to see. Gently, he touched the white scar, fingering it as Gowen began again, sighing gently as he sifted through his next thoughts.

"At first, I can recall seeing blurred ghosts, then shapes, then shadows... and then finally, my world went black." There was a touch of such utter misery in the boy's voice, such complete heartache. More than anything else Gowen desired to see the world as he used too, but such things were beyond the local healer's skill to heal. Gowen had to learn to see the world in a different way, very slowly, step by step. "For the next year, my father helped me every day to become confident on my feet. I was much younger and willing to learn, so together we figured out ways that I could get around without much assistance at all. There were times that my father said I was so confident he could barely tell I was blind..." Gowen's voice drifted off, as if caught in a distant dream for a moment.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm telling you this, but I promise, it plays a part in why Ralorn took such an interest in my father and I." Gowen clarified quickly, suddenly realizing just how off topic this conversation sounded like it was going. "A few months after my accident, my brother left on a two year training course to learn more about the medial arts, partly in hopes that he could find a way to restore my sight... but I never saw him again."

"Little Brother, you don't have to-" Aragorn was afraid of working up the boy, that was not his intention at all in this.

"Yes, I do! Do not get me wrong, I love my brother dearly and I miss him very much... but if he had not left he surely would have died as my father did, and that is my only relief that he was not there the day Ralorn came. It is good to know that he at least could still be alive."

"Why did Ralorn come at all?"

"Like a told you before, a rumor. Not long after my brother left home, my father made me a special gift – a hollow walnut shell that he decorated with silver and padded the inside with wool. It was a case, capable of being opened but it was so hard to do, yet not without a purpose. For inside the walnut shell held a great treasure, one that my father worked countless hours to complete."

"What was inside?" Aragorn leaned closer, completely enraptured.

"A single glass athelas leaf, encircled by the body of a dragon; small enough to lie in full across two fingers. It was one of the most prized creations my father had ever made, and he made it for me to represent strength and healing. When he let me hold it for the first time he told me of a legend that involved a plant called athelas; it had touched him and he made his own. The dragon was of no real influence, other than that we both loved stories wandering folk would tell about the old dragons, and to us they were strong and brave. He never wanted me to forget either, wanting me to be strong and open to healing. It was placed in the walnut shell to be kept safe since it was so fragile, and from that day forward I wore the walnut shell on a leather thong around my neck.

"Well, you know how word travels and some people tend to exaggerate. When Ralorn heard about it, the small gift had been claimed to be worth riches without end, and he set out to find us. He asked my father for the treasure he had made, wanting to know so much about it, but mostly if he could obtain it. But my father refused to tell him anything of true worth, saying only that he had made it for me and me only. Knowing I was the only one to liberate to get results Ralorn tried to talk to me but my father would have none of it, demanding that the elves leave. It was the first time I had ever had any contact whatsoever with elves, and being six by then and very blind, they frightened me. There was a fight... and my father was killed. I was taken captive."

Aragorn was struck by the cold lack of feeling that the boy radiated. The hard, closed expression that shut out all emotion as the story was recounted, and yet as the ranger watched, the cloudy grey eyes that held no light grew dim and the harshness faded. In a breath they had filled with unshed tears.

Gowen swiped them away before they fell down his face and revealed just how hurt he felt. He had been so small with no way to defend himself or the only family he had ever known. They were broken, shattered, torn apart when his father died, the family of three now in three different places. Then to endure the next nine years of terror, abuse, and the sick feeling of having no one care about him. His life, his security, his family had been crushed like a dry leaf, and whatever he had left was in the clutches of a heartless killer. He hadn't cried in front of anyone since he had listened to his father's dying moan. He couldn't. He thought he had forgotten how, until he realized there was still warm wetness falling down his face.

The man probably didn't know it, but the ranger that defended and befriended him had become his only reason to live. To enjoy a measure of peace in life again was something he didn't think he could lose and continue on as before. He trusted Aragorn with his life. He would have followed the man into anything without question. Gowen listened to Aragorn move closer to him, the ranger's soft breathing growing louder.

Aragorn's heart ached for the teenager that had lost so much in his short life. It had been chilling to watch those blind eyes steel themselves so quickly against the rush of emotion that had touched him so. To see a young one reduced to such firm discipline made his heart wrench. If he could have truly witnessed even a shred of pain that consumed Gowen's soul, the shock of it would have broken a will of stone., though the boy's general easy-going attitude about the whole thing up until the end made it so hard to imagine.

Kneeling in front of the boy and bracketing the sides of the young one's face in his hands, Aragorn tipped the head up and locked his gaze with the unseeing eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes sad and voice soft. "I am so sorry." Gowen had grown up far too fast, endured far more than he should have. His childhood not made up of happy memories, but of horrible nightmares.

"Gowen," Aragorn let the name fall and reverted back to the new nickname, the one Gowen had so quickly become fond of. "Little Brother... I want you to know that you aren't alone anymore. I'm here for you. I'll help you."

Blank dark eyes suddenly shot up to the direction of Aragorn's voice. Gowen's features were no longer expressionless, but now looked anxious and intense. The thought of having a true friend, an ally... it was something he had never known or enjoyed since he was very small. Anger and despair had been his only constant companions until Strider had come into his life just a few short days ago. His deep voice was awkward and could have been mistaken for a tone and a question from a child much younger than he. "Really?"

The gentle question only hardened the ranger's resolve. Brushing the long hair out of Gowen's eyes Aragorn pulled the boy toward him and held him in a firm embrace. "I promise, Little Brother. I'll take care of you, even if it means my life."

It was the oddest feeling, sitting against the wall with Gowen curled up against his side and finally fast asleep, the dark room echoing no sound save the two companions' breathing. But tired as he was, Aragorn could not sleep.

The name he had given Gowen rolled and rippled through his mind, staying in rhythm with the child's light breathing.

Little Brother...

It was odd how he had chosen this nickname for the young boy, and how much it really meant to him now. Holding Gowen, protecting him and keeping the nightmares away by humming a familiar elvish tune, Aragorn thought about it. He had always been the little brother to his family and friends, the youngest member in many lives. But here and now he began to understand the twins' fierce love and protectiveness of him, and a weight of responsibility he had never felt before settled on his heart. He was the big brother now; he was the love and protection for someone younger than he. It didn't take long for Aragorn to pull Gowen closer and accept it freely. It was a title he knew he would cherish, and with his life prove himself worthy of.

Relaxing farther against the cold wall behind him, Aragorn's eyes dropped slightly. Walking all night without resting and the first conversation with the young boy had wearied him but he fought to stay awake. Gowen needed him and there was no telling when one of the guards or Ralorn would return for them. The ranger wished for Arahil; he had not seen the guard for several hours now but he no longer had to wonder about where the elf was. A haze began to enter his eyes.

_No wait, he could see the guard enter the room now, but he was glowing far beyond what was normal for an elven glow and was dressed in white robes... his hair was loose about his face and Aragorn could not really make out the more defined features, but they seemed changed... Arahil was reaching for him, calling to him in a voice that was his and yet sounded different, as if he were hearing it with another's ears... behind him was a white stallion that rivaled Arahil's whiteness, and next to him, a copper-colored stallion was watched him closely before suddenly calling to him as though he was angry or afraid..._

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Ralorn sat alone now in the same room he and Mayroniel had occupied before the boy had been caught. He was lost in thought, a dangerously dark look in his eyes. Much of the preparation was complete now. Mayroniel had sent out two of the guards to watch for any intruders, with the orders that all captives should be taken alive if possible. He wanted to be the judge as to whether or not anyone should be given the right to die if they deserved more in life.

Now that he was left to his own devices, Ralorn discovered his thoughts drifting back to the past, finding and recalling the story of his life as a young elfling. Remembering who he had been and why he had become as he was now. When told in brief the story was short, but there was much under the surface that many did not care to discover, much less understand.

He had been quite young when his human mother died giving birth, taking her life and the life of a little sister that would have been. Despair ate away at him as his father grew quiet and still, choosing to lose himself in the training of the horses of Rivendell. Often Ralorn, as he was called, would be at his side helping him. It was then that he gained a significant understanding of the language of horses, surpassing the knowledge of many. In later years, he would be renowned for his experience with the magnificent beasts.

But as Ralorn attempted to move on with his loss, he quickly discovered that he was being indirectly shunned by everyone his age. The others he had grown up with did not understand his loss, many of them still having complete families. They had no idea what to do with him, the one who suddenly had lost something so dear. They feared his presence, and escaped his gaze. Ralorn was left alone.

Months passed by slowly and painfully, and the silence tore at his soul.

But there was one.

A slightly younger elfling with a gentle nature went out of her way to befriend the hurting young boy. With the sweetness of her mother, little Arwen did what she could to get Ralorn out of his shell. She quickly became his one and only support, his only friend.

Then one night several years after his mother's death, while Ralorn was out gathering bedding for the horses, he noticed two young elf warriors run quickly into the darkness after something he could not see, recognizing them as the twin sons of Elrond. In a moment however, it was the last thing on his mind when the crackle and roar of a sudden fire quickly consumed the large haystack from which he was gathering from, and quickly finding better fuel in the wood of the stable walls.

Fear for his father who was still inside and for the horses trapped in their stalls filled him. Without any thought to himself, Ralorn ran into the stables, yelling at another elf close by to get help before disappearing into the growing flame and smoke of the building. He called desperately for his father as he moved from stall to stall, opening doors and sending terrified horses fleeing for the wide open stable doors. As he reached the south-west side the walls were completely aflame. In the back corner was a feed room, the doorway trapped by fallen wood, and a familiar voice calling desperately to him from within.

Determination filled the young elf, and Ralorn rushed to save his father. The smoke was thick and the flames ravenous, consuming all it could find. Ralorn dug into the fallen logs that blocked the feed door with his bare hands, ignoring the bite of the smoldering coals as they burned the flesh of his fingers and palms. Most of it he cleared and his father was able to force the door trapping him open. The head stableman had barely made it out when over half the wall next to them gave way, crashing down toward the both of them. A burning blanket fell from its peg on the crumbling wall and wrapped around the younger elf's body, consuming Ralorn with fire as he tried to escape.

Ralorn remembered almost nothing of the time after the blanket wrapped about him, violently throwing his balance and he fell to the ground, becoming trapped among the wood he had just struggled to clear away. Afterward, he could remember the smell of the flames and the agony of his growing burns, his father's voice calling to him... shreds of someone picking him up still wrapped partially in that horse blanket, wisps of being dropped suddenly as a deafening crash sounded and something landing hard on him, knocking him out and whoever had carried him. After that, all had faded from his memory.

He didn't know who found him, protected by his father's body, barely alive and almost unrecognizable. Didn't know who cared for him during the first long, cold, pain-filled nights of his delirious moans and weeping that came in response to his horrible pain.

It was not until long after the fire that he discovered his father had perished in the flames, valiantly attempting to get his only son out. Recovery for Ralorn was long and slow, perhaps due to his anger and unwillingness to live. The staggering shock at the fresh loss left even deeper wounds that that of his human mother and the burn scars. Half his skin was now horribly disfigured, including the left side of his face, the most prominent feature that could always be seen. Without a tie to anyone he knew, he could find little reason to live.

He recalled the night of the fire and the memory of the twins running from the stables, moments before the haystacks were overcome with fire. He put the two together, and his anger against the elves that had unknowingly wronged him flared hot within him. They were the cause of his loss, and he wanted them to pay for it. But anyone he told only replied that he was not remembering correctly, that his injuries had affected a part of his memory of that night and no blame was ever placed on the twins. The injustice of it burned Ralorn.

Arwen continued to try and console him, but if Ralorn was angry before, he was violent now. Several months later, a few teasing remarks from some of the younger elves who found the marks amusing and not knowing the true reason why they were there began to reveal some of the dark anger building in Ralorn's young heart. One unwise comment about his scars that refused to heal found an elfling with a broken arm. They knew nothing of his pain, too careless about what they thought and said. None of them understood. Unmercifully, he began to turn his back on them all, his darkening heart encouraging him to raise an iron fist to the world and forget the lessons of honor and discipline taught by his father. Sarcasm and insults got him into frequent fights.

Elladan and Elrohir were of the few that had done nothing to neither help the problem nor add fuel to the flame. They remained in the background, unsure of what to do and still unknowing of Ralorn's hatred of them. Doing nothing to stop Arwen from trying to break through Ralorn's growing fierceness, they feared for Arwen and what Ralorn may do to her.

One night, they got their answer. When the sun was setting beyond the horizon and the twins walking together in the gardens, they overheard a heated argument. Recognizing both voices, they rushed through a few dense trees to witness Ralorn striking Arwen hard across the face. The usual light and mirth that graced the twins was forgotten, their anger now just as fierce as their joy. They tackled Ralorn and got him away from their little sister, just as Ralorn realized the seriousness of what he had done. Brotherly protection and anger flared in the twin elves, and missing the horror written in Ralorn's face Elladan told Ralorn to never come near his sister again.

Ralorn was already horrified that he had reacted so rashly, slapping Arwen because she was telling him to stop lashing out in the way he was. He had been so angry and he still was, and her advice wasn't nearly close to what he wanted to hear. He tried to tell the twins that he hadn't meant to do something so awful, but neither of them were willing to listen to him anymore. Again they told him to stay away from Arwen and left him quickly, taking away his only friend. For a long time, he could not move, could barely breathe.

He was gone the next day. No trace could be found of him, and there weren't too many who really cared. Only Arwen feared for the hardened young elf, but she had been forbidden to go look for him herself. All of the older adults knew of his rashness and because Ralorn was old enough to take care of himself, they let him go his own way.

Ralorn escaped into the mountains, making his home the rocky plateaus and thick trees, and eventually several miles away from Rivendell near the northern mountains he discovered the cave that now housed both he and his men. He grew wise living off the land, and for years he lived in isolation from the world. Then one night he returned to leave the twins a message. It read that someday, somehow he was going to return to them the pain they had given him.

Elladan and Elrohir were amazed to hear from the elf again and knowing of his anger they again began to fear for Arwen, afraid that Ralorn would try to use her against them. Not much time had passed before the twins' and Arwen's own mother was brutally taken from them. Celebrían was taken by orcs and cruelly tortured, and after only a year of struggling recovery ended with the little family seeing her make her final journey to the sea. Arwen left Rivendell to live with her mother's kin in Lorien, and the twins were glad to see her go somewhere that Ralorn couldn't attack her and find the solace to ease her own pain while they stayed with their father and tried to soothe their own.

Years melted away and Ralorn's threat was nearly forgotten, and the fear ebbed away to a shadowed corner of the past.

But Ralorn had not forgotten, and now they were already paying the price.

Ralorn had plans to make good of his threat, but he had not taken it out on Arwen as they had always feared, but rather taken some of his twisted revenge out on Aragorn, their young human brother. For all his anger Ralorn never would hurt Arwen physically in any way despite what her older brothers may think, but he had no problem seeking retribution on the twins through Aragorn instead. The fact that he bore no love for men or the relationship between men and elves did not help, and as his prime target was to hurt the twins there was left no barrier of guilt.

Ralorn's lip curled as he remembered it all. If he was lucky, they would all end up dead and the world would be rid of their despicable presence. He would be rid of his tormentors. And perhaps when they were gone, he could find some peace of mind.

Mayroniel suddenly entered the room, catching Ralorn slightly off guard as few could do.

"My lord," the guard said quickly, bowing to his superior. "The guards have found something that you may want to see."

Ralorn stood to his feet and followed the other elf down the cave's hallway toward the entrance. "What did you find?"

"A stallion, my lord," Mayroniel smiled a bit. "A rider-less stallion from Rivendell."

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Aragorn snapped awake. He hardly had time to chastise himself for drifting off before he noticed the neigh he had heard in his dream was not fading away, it was real. An anger filled cry that came from a horse and from the tone the ranger guessed a stallion. Recalling his dream, he wondered if it was a call from a horse he knew...

He barely had time to think about it before the ranger realized he had jerked Gowen awake. The boy jumped up, quite frightened, but before he got far Aragorn again pulled him close and quickly shushed him. Both of the prisoners could hear distressed calls of a horse that echoed through the cave walls and Aragorn stood slowly. He knew those calls, the odd, yet familiar ringing in the horse's voice hammered into him, striking a cord in his memory and a chill in his heart.

"Tole?" the image of the copper horse galloped in front of his eyes and the conformation of the calls cleared all doubt.

Gowen opened his mouth to question the ranger, but Aragorn silenced him again before the boy could make a sound. Outside the wooden door he heard the faint rumbles of running on the dirt floor. Their guards were running toward the frantic roaring of the stallion. Without thought Aragorn turned and picked his young friend up off the ground. Gowen's leg hardly had time to heal and it would do him no good to walk on it now.

Aragorn tested the handle and was amazed to discover it unlocked. Arahil had been careful to lock the door, but in the guard's haste they had foolishly forgotten where Arahil would have not. Easing the heavy door open the fleet-footed ranger escaped stealthily down the tunnel the guards had just run down.

Aragorn recalled being forced into this cave, pushed and shoved quite a distance by Lom, deep into the cold, stony, muddy depths. Torches now lit the tunnels with their bright, flickering light every several feet, and the ranger could tell immediately that they were headed toward the surface; the original decent down into the cave he could clearly recall from a few hours before was creeping upwards.

Both the ranger and the boy could make out faint sounds of a struggle now; the elves were trying to get a resisting horse under control. Aragorn kept running, though no food and little water had taken a severe toll on his energy. Panting slightly, he barely had time to react before he heard a yelled order.

"Lom! What are you doing here! Get back to your patrol! Don't worry about this... Get moving!"

Aragorn glanced about him desperately, searching for a tunnel to dart into. He wouldn't let either one of them be caught, not now... he swung around and dove into the shadows of a connecting tunnel, pressing Gowen back against the wall and shielding the boy with his own body. Not two seconds later Lom and another guard turned back down the tunnel they had just disappeared from.

Gowen was trembling against Aragorn, for he had no idea what the man was planning and nearly being caught like this would mean horrible consequences for the both of them. He didn't dwell on it long, for outside they heard the snap of a whip over and over, the stallion's roars turning to cries of anger and pain.

Aragorn left the tunnel and crept toward the narrow opening of the cave. Fresh morning air rushed into his lungs and caressed his face, the scent of the mountains easing a piece of his heart, quite literally the best breath he had taken since entering the cave. But he tensed again and his heart flared when he could no longer hear the stallion, or the whip.

"Stubborn bull-headed heap. I'm done with this. My lord, he's far too willful and I don't have time or the means to tame him to my will. He's already injured, just let me kill him and put the beast out of his misery."

Aragorn listened to Ralorn sigh in disgust and defeat. The stallion was a fine animal, one he would have readily claimed, but the horse's heart was obviously given to another and there was nothing he could do to change that. Besides, catching horses was not his main concern, although this was a good sign that someone was coming, and that was an encouraging thought. "All right. I can't believe he followed us all the way out here anyway. If he were stronger..."

Once again Aragorn barely had time to hide himself and the boy before Ralorn and Mayroniel found them. Pulling back into a dark corner two feet away from the narrow entrance, Aragorn put himself between the boy and their captors, not even daring to breathe. Gowen buried his face against the ranger's rough tunic, not trusting his voice. In silence, they waited.

Ralorn and Mayroniel entered the cave and walked down the descending tunnel, disappearing around the corner moments later. Neither of them heard nor noticed the two escapees hiding in the corner as they conversed back and forth about the stallion. Aragorn couldn't believe his luck. He waited for a few moments before bolting out the cave entrance like one possessed.

Outside, he found what he wanted and secretly expected.

The ranger knew the horse in front of him, the dark copper coat and the deep brown eyes. The stallion's head hung low, his sides heaving. A few red stripes covered the sides of his body and one front leg had been injured badly somehow, gashed open from knee to hoof and bleeding.

"Tole," Aragorn whispered, rushing to his stallion and placing Gowen on the ground. He wrapped his arms around the horse's head and hugged him close for a moment. "What happened to you, you old nag?"

Tole nickered wearily in response.

Aragorn knelt down next to the front left leg and inspected the gash, picking up the leg and carefully pulling it forward. Tole stiffened but Aragorn quickly shushed him. "Easy, Tole, it's all right. I'm sorry, Tole... I never thought you'd follow me..." The ranger sounded worried and perplexed.

Not that Aragorn knew, but Tole had still been awake on that night not long distant. The rain had just begun and the stallion had been awoken by something he could not place; it disturbed him and he could find no rest. Shortly, strange noises came from just outside the stable walls, caught by his sharp hearing. Tole heard and perked up as Aragorn's voice manifested itself distinctly, though the sound of it was quite groggy. He sounded like he was in trouble. Another voice, unfamiliar and cold, joined his master's, and all too quickly Aragorn ceased to speak. Fear filled the stallion. Tole bore his teeth and slammed his front feet into the stall door. It gave way under a few powerful hits and allowed him passage. The stallion raced out into the rain to discover a fading disfigured being in the distance. He followed, leaving Rivendell and his friends behind without a second glance.

The journey through the mountains was hard and often Tole lost the tracks, but he refused to give up. He was by birth wild; but raised since he was young in the understanding of the Rivendell elves. He was at home here, wise in the methods of his quest. The wind and the trees aided him, leading him step by step, mile by mile to this lonely cave deep in the northern Misty Mountains. It was only a few short hours ago that he had suddenly been caught in surprise by an elf whose voice and demeanor was entirely different from the elves of Imladris, or the human he was undyingly loyal to. Tole had blatantly refused to succumb to the elf that frightened and angered him. So the elf, one of the beings of a race he had grown to respect back home, had turned on him... hurt him... but in the end brought him here to the one he searched for.

The gash was long but not deep and Aragorn was relieved to find it new and mostly clean. The edges were not jagged and the ranger figured a sharp knife had been used, but in this manner it was for reasons unknown. Tearing a length of his tunic away, he wrapped it tightly around the wound to pinch off the blood flow and temporarily close off the open injury to infection.

"Tole," he again stood in front of the stallion and spoke to him in the Grey Tongue to calm the horse's nerves and help him understand. "My friend, I need you to do something for me. Are you able to walk?"

Tole gently stamped his injured leg, testing it, and looked at Aragorn curiously.

"Good boy," Aragorn told him, scratching the stallion's forehead. "I need you to take this boy to Rivendell for me. Can you do that?"

Tole grunted softly, giving the blind boy a vague glance before suddenly piercing Aragorn with a firm stare and snorted questioningly.

Aragorn shook his head. "No, Tole, I can't come. You are injured and Gowen will be hard enough. Do not worry for me. Just get Little Brother out of here and send back help." Tole swished his tail and did not protest again. He stood quietly as Aragorn untied the lead rope from the rocks that bordered the entrance, before turning back to the boy who sat on the rough ground, waiting patiently.

Gowen listened as Aragorn worked with his horse fearfully. His last beating wasn't even a half day old and already he was asking for something worse. The two narrow escapes had made his heart jump to his throat and his blind eyes were wide and terrified. He heard Aragorn speak in such a graceful way that the beautiful, strange tongue became even more majestic to him. He wondered what the ranger was saying, and even more what he was up to. Though he had some idea of what it could be, he had learned to never try and guess what crazy idea went through that ranger's head. It was futile.

Aragorn's footsteps suddenly were coming for him again. Strong, gentle arms wrapped themselves securely around his body and he was lifted off the ground. His leg throbbed worse than any other injury, but Aragorn's care had taken away much of the original bite. Gowen heard the soft snorting of the horse, and when Aragorn stopped and pushed his good leg over something smooth and sweaty, he knew. The ranger was putting him on the stallion.

Gowen immediately hunched forward and grabbed fistfuls of long mane. Terror was ripping at his courage, and as soon as Aragorn let go of him he released a small whimper.

"Be still." Aragorn's voice and hands were there again, comforting him a little. A thin strap of leather brushed his face as Aragorn placed a leather thong around his neck. A hand lighted on his shoulder, directing his attention to the man again.

"You need to get out of here. The stallion you are on is named Tole, and he's my horse. He can take you away from here and bear you to Rivendell, my home."

"But why aren't you coming with me? What's this?" Gowen lifted the leather around his neck and discovered something cold, hard, and round attached to it.

"I'm sorry but I can't. Tole's been injured; he has not the strength to carry us both. I must wait here. I've given you my ring, Barahir. When you get to Rivendell, give it to Lord Elrond and tell him what has happened to me. But you must get away! I will not let Ralorn harm you further. Go quickly, before he returns. Also..." Aragorn lost his firm voice, replacing it with a tone filled with a heart's desire. "If you find my brothers or my best friend..."

Gowen finished his sentence, familiar with all three from Aragorn's stories of them. "I will send them to you, I promise. But, Strider!" the boy's voice was edged with fear. "I don't know how to ride a horse!"

"Do not fear Little Brother, Tole won't let you fall. Now go on, get out of here. I will wait for help."

Gowen reached out carefully, searching until he found the man and touched the ranger lightly on the side of his face. "Strider... my friend... thank you."

Aragorn gave the hand a firm squeeze. "May the Valar protect you and I. Now go." The last words were soft. Gowen nodded and gripped Tole's thick tresses tightly, still fearful but doubting no more.

"Sit up straight, Little Brother." The boy smiled a trifle and did as instructed.

Going to his horse's head, Aragorn whispered to Tole desperately. "Take him home Tole, keep him safe, my friend. If you find my brothers or Legolas, go to them. But take Gowen to Rivendell." Tole nickered and Aragorn stroked his neck fondly, leaning on the horse for a moment before directing him back home. "Hannon le, Tole. Each nin er estel."

Thank you, Tole. You are my only hope.

Tole turned and walked away from the ranger as Aragorn directed him to the right path, Gowen holding on steadily. In minutes Tole had disappeared, Gowen with him.

Aragorn turned away from that path and looked to the west, the sun overhead, creeping slowly toward noon-day. Clouds were gathering again though, there would be more rain soon. He tried to enjoy the feel of being free, the touch of fresh air and the view of the mountains around him. He didn't know when he would see them again. His heart was torn though, his thoughts lingering with the boy and his own circumstances now that he was gone.

Just before he turned around to go sneak back inside, a dangerously low voice spoke from behind him.

"And what do you think you're doing?"

Aragorn froze. He had been caught... by Mayroniel. One maimed hand slapped onto his shoulder, and the other expertly connected with the base of his skull.

His world faded and went black.


	9. Meant To Live

Chapter 8

**Meant To Live**

Clouds were gathering again. The elf could smell the whisperings of heavy rain on the wind. Perhaps even worse than the storm several days ago, the one Aragorn had disappeared into. The day was already waning; the elf knew he would see the sky open up before the night was over.

Nudging Silme gently with his heels, Legolas again comforted his traveling companions. Silme was calm, trotting in a high-spirited way that showed her good mood. She loved forests and the depth of this one was almost familiar, akin to the woods around Mirkwood and what she knew as home. Legolas spoke to her often, keeping both their minds off of their weariness. Celebnar perched on Legolas' arm, chirping softly as they journeyed on. The falcon was completely at ease with these two, strange and foreign though they were to him. They were both like something he had always dreamed of having but never dared hope for – laughter and peace. His wing had healed much since Legolas had taken the bird in, and Celebnar was itching to add his voice to the sky. Legolas had promised him the next time they had need to stop he could. For now though, the elf retained a firm, but not confining grip on the jesses still strapped around Celebnar's legs.

The forest was quiet now; birds were fading away and the air became still. As the silence grew louder, the three companions became a little edgy. It was not unusual for the birds and other creatures of the woodland areas to seek shelter before a storm, but to hear no more of their song was vaguely disturbing in and of itself. Legolas became tense, listening carefully for any sign of danger. With the birds gone, he could not rely on them to help discover an oncoming threat.

A short distance later Legolas told Silme to stop. The forest was silent and the trees were calling out to him in warning. They were in danger, but as to what kind, he was unsure. The elf dismounted and knelt to the ground, pressing his ear to the earth. Celebnar chirped in fear but Legolas shushed him, wanting to know what was coming.

Then, it came. Like the rushing of a storm on the sea as it comes closer to the shores of land. The earth was groaning beneath the elf, Legolas could feel it. A rumble from the depths barely touched his ears. The actions of the earth were strange and unsettling – Legolas knew they were all in danger.

The elf barely had time to register the thought when the ground beneath him began to move violently. It was as if he were in the high branches of a tree and someone below had taken hold of the trunk and shaken it. But it got worse, much worse. The ground began to tremble faster at an alarming rate. Celebnar cried out and opened his wings; Legolas lost his grip on the leather straps and the falcon flew into the air in the attempt to escape the shuddering earth.

"Silme!" Legolas turned to his horse and was nearly knocked off his feet. All around him there was chaos, trees cracking in half and limbs falling to the ground. Silme reared high in sudden fear and cried out as she tried to bolt but did not get far. The earthquake drove her to fall with violence on her side, too unsteady on her feet. Legolas landed near her, attempting to protect her head with his body from the falling limbs.

After several seconds the movement of the ground ceased, fading away like the beat of a drum. The earth shuddered and then went still.

"Silme?" Legolas looked down at his horse after a moment, still confused and fearful as he watched the world around him. "Are you all right?" he held her head down, not wishing her to bring any harm to herself though the elf was sure she had done some damage when she fell.

"Come on, girl, easy..." Slowly, Legolas allowed the mare to rise. She was a bit unsteady and wobbled on her feet, but otherwise rose without difficulty. When Legolas came to inspect her side that she had fallen on, the elf discovered her shoulder and part of her ribcage to be bruised, unable to take the pressure of her weight so suddenly. Otherwise, they were both fine.

Legolas looked around him. Fallen tree limbs and debris littered the ground. Even the earth was tossed about and shaken. Celebnar was nowhere in sight. But the earthquake had not seriously injured them; they were still alright. Legolas gently shushed Silme until she calmed enough to move again.

Legolas knew there was wisdom in stopping for a while to let the mare recover. Silme was trembling and her side would need a little care when the stiffness set in. After a few moments of searching with his eyes, the prince spotted a small clearing in the distance that offered some protection from anything they might encounter, though Legolas doubted they would be discovered by anyone other than their quarry.

When they reached the desired area, Legolas removed his pack of supplies from off Silme's back and searched though his cache of herbs for a salve to help take care of the bruising. As he did so, he searched the sky, worry creeping its way into his heart. Celebnar was no where to be seen.

A short while later, Legolas caught faint sounds of cries in the distance. Listening more closely, he recognized them to be orc voices. Revolted, the elf gathered his weapons and left Silme in the clearing to investigate. He would not have those vile creatures doing anything to jeopardize his quest, it would be better to catch them off guard than the other way around. Traveling swiftly through the forest, he followed the noise of the orcs. Shortly however he discovered something he did not expect.

"A horse?" he asked himself softly. And not just any horse, it was one Legolas was sure he had seen before. He ran in the direction of the growing figure, filled with confusion and hope.

000000000000

When Aragorn finally woke, he wished he had not. His arms had been twisted behind him and iron manacles had been clapped around his wrists and elbows, connecting him to a single heavy chain that latched to the ceiling of a small, but familiar room – the only one in the cave with a door and a lock. His booted feet barely touched the floor; his shoulders were straining painfully to keep him up. Torchlight flickered from one corner of the same room he had been in since coming here, and a cold voice greeted his awakening.

"Trying to escape, human?" the voice was Ralorn's, and the very tone sent a slick of fear down Aragorn's spine. Another light came, one that Ralorn claimed as his own odd elvish glow. The elf's face was dark with hate, and he stood, walking over and standing mere inches from the ranger. These new dealings had done nothing to improve his mood.

"_Fool_!" Ralorn slapped Aragorn hard across the face, flinging the ranger's head back roughly. "You set the boy free? Were you hoping to get help that way?"

Aragorn hesitated, smarting slightly from the slap. "I didn't want you to hurt him any longer. He can do you no harm."

Ralorn wasn't impressed. There was much about the boy he assumed the ranger did not know, but he wasn't going to tell the man that. He didn't want the man knowing what he was really trying to get out of the boy. "In these wilds that child will be dead by morning from the danger that lurks, worse than anything he could receive from me."

Anger suddenly gripped Aragorn. He did know - a lot more than Ralorn thought he did by means the elf did not consider the man would ever receive. "So that's why you broke his leg? The wilds are not as merciless as you." Fire glimmered brightly in the ranger's eyes.

The elf did not take kindly to the retort. In a powerful swing he punched Aragorn hard in the stomach, removing all the air from the man's lungs. "You've sent that boy to his death, and put your brothers on a dangerously tight time limit! You should have learned to guard your tongue better, but nothing can save you now, human."

Ralorn left him and walked to the door, knocking on it lightly. The door opened swiftly and Ralorn whispered fiercely to whoever had opened the door. The door shut again once whatever Ralorn had requested was on its way to be fulfilled and the elf turned back to the man, his scowl turning into a deadly sneer. Aragorn froze, his soft wheezing catching sharply in his throat.

"You're pushing it now. Before you may have had a chance making it though this without being extensively harmed, but I will not let this go unpunished. You've put yourself in a dangerous situation, one I frankly have to wonder if you'll live through."

The door opened then and Mayroniel entered, flanked by Lom. Ralorn turned to them swiftly.

"There is something I must see to, but I will return. Mayroniel, take over for me, will you? You know what to do." Mayroniel nodded his assent, a dark glimmer of amusement entering his eyes.

The earthquake had done much damage to the lower tunnels – several of them had collapsed under the strain. Aragorn had no memory of the event; he had been unconscious at the time and did not understand what had happened. Ralorn had to go direct his men in removing all that they could from the lower levels before sealing them off, and that was going to take some time. Luckily, none of the more important rooms had been apart of the collapsed half of the cave, and Ralorn was generally unconcerned. Sealing and stabilizing the tunnels however would require some fast attention before anything unusual brought the rest of the cave down on their heads. So he made ready to leave, putting Aragorn in Mayroniel's control, the assignment that the other elf rather relished in and the man desperately reviled against.

Aragorn began twisting violently in his bonds, but there was nothing he could do to get free. The chains that bound him to the ceiling were not intended for him to remove and the elves had made sure there was no way he could. But he could not be left with Mayroniel, not like this – the elf would kill him! "No Ralorn! If you kill me Elladan and Elrohir will never submit to you!"

Ralorn paused in the doorway. "Who said anything about killing you? No, Mayroniel, don't kill him. Just make sure that the lesson you teach him will never fail to remember!" The command however was too lazily given and it brought the ranger no relief. It only served to intensify his fear.

Ralorn left, slamming the door behind him. Mayroniel turned back to Aragorn, walking forward and gripping the man's chin tightly in his maimed hand. "I've been waiting for this, human scum," he whispered angrily, his eyes shadowed with anger, gripping the man tighter so he would recognize the missing fingers. "You'd better pray that your brothers come quickly to save you."

Aragorn could do nothing; he was surrounded and bound too well. Struggling helplessly against the increasing pain in his shoulders from the weight of his own body pulling him down, he felt the cold touch of a blade as it cut through his thin, worn, dirty tunic and strong hands held him in place as someone roughly removed the cloth.

§§§

Gowen could feel the warmth of sunlight on his back filtering through the trees as he held tight to Tole's thick mane, all his senses as alert and aware as they could be. The stallion was walking in a brisk trot, eager to be away from the cave to do as his master bid him.

Gowen knew they had been traveling for only about an hour, but they had not been caught yet and slowly he was beginning to relax. Tole needed no comfort it seemed. The stallion had a thick hide and a wide threshold for pain, hardly even limping on his injured leg. The stallion was focused on the world around them as well, using all that Gowen was in the same ways save one advantage – his sight.

Picking his way carefully over a rather rocky drop, Tole landed on the ground evenly, but before he took two steps he made a dead stop. The suddenness of it made Gowen tense up.

"Tole?" The boy whispered, leaning forward slightly and gently stroking the horse's neck. "What's wrong?"

Tole nickered at the boy softly, not understanding the words the boy spoke but clearly hearing the concern in Gowen's voice, wanting to encourage him. This was no visible threat. This was something else, a stir within his soul that made him freeze in questioning, curious fear. It was not a moment too soon.

Tole felt it underneath his feet a millisecond before it happened – the ground began to shake again with a violence more intense than the last time. Tole neighed in surprise and spread out his feet, widening his stance so he would not fall. Gowen leaned forward and gripped more tightly to his mane, trying desperately not to cry out in utter fear. The shaking of the earth jarred his bad leg and nearly unseated his wavering grip.

Trees around them began to crack and break, tumbling down to the earth and crashing into the undergrowth under the force of this new earthquake. Rocks and debris fled down the steeper parts of the mountainside, leaving behind clouds of dust to fill the air. But still, Tole did not move. He couldn't, for fear he would endanger both his life and the boy's. He whinnied shrilly as his feet stumbled under the force of the earth, expressing his frustration and fear in a way other than trying to run as instinct told him to do. The movement of the ground below him was terrifying; he had never felt it so violently before!

After several moments, the rumbling of the earth faded and then quickly died altogether. Slowly, the ground went still again.

Tole and Gowen were both breathing hard, the young human was moaning softly at the once again building pain in his leg and the stallion let loose several agonized cries. Tole knew the movement of the earth was nature's way, but it still confused him. The boy however, was in too much pain to think of such things at the moment.

After a few minutes of recovery, Tole took a wary step forward. Nothing happened this time, the earth remained steady. A few more test steps bolstered the horse's confidence enough to walk again. Gowen did not sit back up this time, but remained hunched over his knee. The pain flare would have been much worse if Aragorn had not reset the bones, but there was nothing holding them in place and the sudden jerking of the earth had sent waves of fire through his senses. Gowen felt his head grow a bit light. It could have been worse, but this still hurt... a lot.

Tole picked his way over the fallen trees, making his way carefully through the damage. He could feel the boy shuddering in pain on his back and wished there was something he could do to ease whatever ailed the boy. Aragorn had put him in his charge, but unfortunately the horse could do little to none when taking care of injuries.

Another fifteen minutes passed by before Tole stopped again. Gowen assumed they had hit a little road block the horse couldn't immediately find a way around, but then he felt the stallion inhale deeply in the attempt to catch some smell on the wind. After a few moments, Tole's body went rigid. Gowen gripped tighter when he felt the stallion tense. They were in trouble again.

The boy's sharp hearing caught a sound on the wind now, just after Tole did. It was an odd sound but chilling to hear. He did not recognize it at first, for it had been some time since he had come into contact with this new threat, yet he knew it was not something they wanted to hang around to wait for. The sounds grew in strength and suddenly Gowen knew what hunted them now.

Orcs.

Gowen let out a sharp cry as something small and painfully sharp cut into the side of his injured leg as it whizzed by. The arrowhead sliced open a gash three inches long, sharpening the pain in his knee once more and his head reeled from the shock. It had barely missed the intended target, which happened to be the stallion. Orcs had never been known for their aim but that had been too close for comfort. Tole had to move sideways to keep the boy stable, snorting sharply as he did so. The voices were closer now, every second gaining in strength. There weren't many, but from the mindless rabble Gowen knew they poised a threat.

Pushing the energy-sucking ache away from the front of his mind, Gowen worked long finders into the thick, tangled tresses of Tole's mane, leaned forward until his forehead touched his clenched fists and whispered to the stallion below him. There was no need to hide his voice now, and desperation flared bright and hot.

"Run, Tole! Run!"

Though Gowen could not see it, Tole's ears flicked back, listening. Stamping nervously for a moment, he again registered the chilling cry of the filthy creatures far behind them. In minutes they would be overcome. Forgetting his wounded leg Tole sprang forward over the large log that had been blocking them and cried aloud in determination.

Gowen could not recall being more afraid in his entire life. He was injured, on the back of a stallion with no control whatsoever over where they were going while hanging on for dear life, pursued by some of the most vile creatures to have ever graced Middle Earth. Never before had he felt so awkward and unprepared. He jounced harshly on Tole's back as the horse reached a full gallop, and the knowledge of his complete inability to ride a horse became very clear. Tears streamed down his face as he considered his options. If the orcs didn't shoot him down first, falling beneath Tole's pounding hooves would. Already he could feel his grip failing him as his body slipped sideways. He did not want to die, not here... not when he had barely been given the chance to live and save another from certain death.

Why did Strider have to place so much trust in him? Such a foolish, foolish move. The man's gift of freedom was going to be for nothing. Gowen wept into the coarse hair in front of him, pleading with anyone listening that Strider's sacrifice for him would not be in vain. He knew the man would pay dearly for helping him escape. Ralorn would be just that angry and cold. Fear was filling him so darkly at the thought that Gowen almost expected his heart to break with the force of it.

The stallion felt him slip and checked the boy, moving sideways to accommodate the change. Gowen could feel a difference in Tole's gait now; the horse was beginning to limp yet still keeping a strong pace. Clutching with a death grip on Tole's mane, he felt like they were flying.

Tole was breathing hard, his strong gait withering away to a mad, desperate shuffle. He had managed to place a fair distance between them and the enemy that pursued, enough for him to stop a moment. The boy did not move from his position lengthwise against his back. The horse could feel the boy weeping, could feel the trembling that shook him, and could sense the fear that flowed from his young touch.

Tole's leg was bleeding freely and it pained him greatly. There would be no more mad gallops for him lest he got help. Searching with his eyes and listening with his senses, Tole tried to find a way out of their predicament. The orcs were gaining again and Tole was forced to walk, limping heavily and leaving behind an easy trail to follow.

Suddenly Tole froze yet again, his attention riveted on something still a distance away. Altering his course of direction slightly, the stallion made his way toward an unknown target, neighing frantically as he went.

Gowen had no idea what Tole was thinking, nor where he was going, but he did notice the confidence that began to strengthen the horse's weakening gait. He gripped the thick mane tightly, whispering to over and over again to the horse. A moment later his ears, heightened by a lifetime of blindness, caught the sound of running feet, and a moment later, a high clear voice.

"Ai Valar, Tole! What happened?"

It was an elf! Gowen's heart leapt into his throat. The voice was very clear and pleasant, an accent a little different to what he was accustomed to but still quite obvious as to which race it belonged. The language he could only slightly decipher, but as the only experience he had ever had with the elves was like a black mar in his memory, the boy had no idea what to expect and therefore kept his mouth shut, trying to block out the sounds of the Grey Tongue. At first only fear kept him from encouraging Tole to run again.

Tole stopped a moment later, whickering anxiously at the unknown elf. Gowen could hear the elf and horse speaking in a way only they could. He could not find the strength to find his voice, for his fears had not nearly drifted away. Unfortunately, he was not ignored long.

"Young man? Please do not fear me, I mean you no harm. I know the horse upon which you ride but I do not recognize you. I will return in time after I take care of your pursuers – there are only six and they come carelessly. Wait for me!" and whoever it was that spoke sprang away, heading back lightly toward the yelling orcs.

Gowen relaxed his grip on Tole's mane and sat up a bit straighter. This elf sounded friendly, unlike the ones he had been captive of for so long. Only Strider's earlier admonition that not all elves were evil kept him from running this time. Behind him, he could hear the cry of dying orcs, being caught by surprise by a crafty elf. Several minutes later the being returned, his breathing coming quick this time but by the sound of it he had escaped unscathed.

"Quickly, you must follow me. Orcs rarely travel in so few numbers out here and the forest is restless. I need you to dismount; your horse is badly injured and should not be ridden right now. You can follow me to-"

"I can't," Gowen whispered, finally lifting his face to the direction of the elf. It was so strange to him to be able to speak freely, whenever he wanted to, now for a time released from his vow.

The elf sounded perplexed. "Why can't you? I can help you, but Tole needs not be ridden now, you'll have to-"

"No, you do not understand! I can't follow you, I can't see." Gowen was pleading. "I'm blind. The horse has been leading me."

"Blind?" the elf, though surprised, responded quickly. "How on earth did you find the stallion of my best friend? Quickly, I must know!"

Best friend? Something whirled in Gowen's memory. No, it could not be... that was impossible! And yet...

"Who are you?"

"My name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm. Do you know the whereabouts of the rightful owner of the stallion upon which you ride?" the elf was attempting to be diplomatic about his question, but his voice was anxious – as if he barely dared to hope.

"Legolas?" Gowen couldn't believe it! Like a character from a story suddenly brought to life, there he was! "Strider has told me of you!"

"Strider!" The elf, Legolas, sounded as if he wished to shout for joy. "Please, tell me you know where he is!"

"You must go to him; I fear he is in great danger. He risked much to get me out, but it will not go unpunished-" Gowen realized he was rambling; nothing he said would have made much sense to the elf.

"What is this you speak of? Come, you must leave with me. I would know what has happened to him, I have been searching many days." Legolas gently took hold of Gowen's shoulders, easing the boy into his arms. "You are injured as well I see. Don't fear me, I want to help. Hold on!"

Legolas began to run quickly and nimbly, Tole following behind. Relief flooded through Gowen, everything was looking up. He could help Strider after all!

As he ran, the elf asked him only one question. "What is your name, young one?"

"...Gowen."

"Gowen," the elf repeated, and said no more.

A fair distance from where they started, Gowen felt the ground decline sharply and moments later he was set gently down, the firm trunk of a tree at his back holding him upright. He could hear Tole snorting, this time in slight pain and he knew the bad leg was beginning to ache fiercely. Soothing sounds of the elvish language, used in a much sweeter tone than the boy was used to began to flow through the air, easing Tole's whimpers to a calm silence. At first, Gowen had to fight his body's urge to recoil from the sound, but the way that Legolas spoke it eased his mind quickly. It truly did sounded like a different language, though Gowen knew that the native tongue of the elves that Legolas, Strider, and the Guard all spoke were most certainly one and the same. Gowen suddenly recognized the presence of another horse in the clearing, the almost indecipherable sounds of shifting feet giving away the animal's position. The other horse stood quietly, showing nothing more but curiosity at these newcomers.

"While I care for his wounds, could you please grace me with your story?" Legolas' voice was gentle but firm, filled with the desire to know the truth. The rustling of a bag filled with many contents accompanied his question. Gowen listened to the elf uncork a few bottles, untie a sack, and mix several unknown substances together into something he couldn't identify.

The boy scooted closer to the sound of the elf's voice and the gentle shifting of Tole's feet. "What know you of Strider?" Always cautious, he wanted to be sure he had the right elf. His hands again fell to his knee, holding it steady and attempted to block out the pain. The gallop had done neither him nor Tole any good and they were both paying for it... but at least they were alive and for the moment, safe.

"Strider is one of the best friends I've ever had," Legolas said, working patiently as he spoke. "I've known him much of his mortal life. Though rightfully a son of men he has been raised by the elves of Rivendell. To the elves he knows his family and to men he is often scorned because of his upbringing. He appears gruff, but he is gentle and strong-willed in nature, fiercely loyal to his family and friends." Gowen heard the sound of sticks and leaves being combined together, followed swiftly by the crackle of a fresh fire. The smell of burning wood filled the boy's nose. Legolas stopped speaking for a moment as he encouraged Tole to lie down close to the small fire he had just made while adding more fuel to the flames. The horse did as the elf bid, his heavy body settling on the forest floor with a weary sigh. "Does that sound like the Strider you know?"

"Yes." The elf had seen right through his question, and some part of Gowen's heart relaxed. The man's description of his elven friend was stunningly accurate. "He is currently being held captive in a cave a few hours from here, under the control of an elf named Ralorn."

Legolas did not respond, but Gowen heard shifting among the growing embers and small popping of the fire and realized the elf had placed a knife in the coals of the fire, preparing to sear the wound closed by first sterilizing the blade and heating it to the proper temperature. The sound of a cloth being squeezed of excess water in the grip of a firm hand came as Legolas began to wipe away any blood and debris he could find out of the open gash in Tole's leg.

"Many days past – how many I could not tell you for sure – he joined our group for the trip over the mountains. Lord Ralorn captured me many years ago for reasons I will not explain now, but only that he now wishes me dead unless I help him. He is evil, bent for revenge against two elves that have some connection to my friend, Strider. His intentions are for Strider's brothers, but Ralorn will not hesitate to torment the human if the need arises..." Gowen took a deep breath. "And use him as a weapon against them."

"Is... is he all right?" Legolas had a touch of fear in his voice now, mingled with a trace of despair. Gowen tensed slightly.

"He is very strong. The guards have withheld food for many days and allowed little water. He has been beaten on occasion." Gowen sighed and Legolas hissed angrily through his teeth at the thought. "But there is a new guard Ralorn hired who protects him from some of the abuse."

Legolas sighed. "Please wait a minute, I must take care of this and Valar knows Tole won't sit still through it."

Gowen understood what Legolas was about to commence and backed up a pace, out of the way. There was a low hissing from the knife and a sharp whinny of protest from Tole as Legolas pressed the blade against the ripped flesh, searing the wound and forcing the skin back together. It took much of Legolas' strength to keep the stallion on the ground through the ordeal, but his voice was calming and Tole responded to it, though it was clear to both Gowen and the elf that he didn't like it at all. After several moments the wound had firmly closed all the way and Legolas propped his knife on a rock to cool.

It was very unusual to sear a wound hours after it had come, but Tole needed to be able to travel soon without mishap and Legolas needed to know the horse could make it home without worrying about stitches popping open. It would do no one any good. The stallion however, would have no feeling in that part of his leg and bear a deep scar for the rest of his life.

"Forgive me," he said as the sound of his mixture of herbs he had concocted earlier was lifted from the ground and gently applied to the seared flesh. It was to stave off the pain of the burn and help fight off any infection, though the searing should have cauterized the wound sufficiently. Tole nickered softly as the ache began to fade. Legolas patted the horse on the neck repeatedly. "Please continue. What can you tell me of this guard?"

"His name is Arahil. I know little of him, but of his nature I can tell you this - he does not relish in the thought of hurting another and takes no pleasure in killing for sport or revenge. He is strong but merciful, and often he defends Strider from the abuse of the other guards. I don't know what he looks like obviously, but Strider once told me that he has long raven colored hair, is a little shorter than the man, and rides a large white stallion named Asfaloth."

Legolas nodded though Gowen couldn't see it. The name Asfaloth sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it at the moment, nor did he even have the patience to try in the face of his growing fear. "Say on."

"I overheard a conversation about what they intended to do to Strider. I heard enough to know his life was in danger, but I was caught trying to escape and paid for it." Gowen gestured lightly to his leg, the worst of his injuries and winced as he registered the sting. "I was beaten, but this was the worst of it; they dislocated my knee." He fingered the gash, his hand drawn to it as he felt the blood on his leg as well as the feverishheat of the swelling. "This was from the orcs. One of their arrows grazed me."

Cool hands touched his leg and with uttermost gentleness his knee was turned to receive better attention. Legolas, having finished with Tole, moved closer to see what he could do to ease the boy's own suffering. Aragorn's care had done much to keep the injury below critical and long-term, but it hadn't healed yet, not by a long shot. There was some strength in the elf's touch, and life spread through the swollen knee, the ache of it fading a little.

"I can do little to help you, other than splint it and bind the gash. Did Strider care for it?"

"Yes. He did what he could and to distract me from the pain he told me stories of his home and of those most dear to him. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his voice." Something in Gowen's face relaxed at the memory, something Legolas couldn't quite place or entirely understand. The elf cleaned and bound the gash, then splinted the injured leg carefully. "Later we woke up to a horse screaming. By either grace or luck Strider snuck us both outside and discovered Tole, also caught now and beaten by the guards for his spirit. Strider put me on the horse after quickly binding the wound in his leg somehow, and gave me this with the instruction to go to Rivendell and find Lord Elrond." Gowen reached under his tunic and withdrew the ring on its leather thong. "He is quite protective of this."

He heard Legolas agree with him on the last statement, then inhale sharply at the ring came into his sight. "Barahir," he whispered, his hand brushing Gowen's as he fingered the silver ring and its green stone. "He gave it to you?"

Gowen pulled the leather strap over his head and held it out to the elf. "He said it would help his family listen and understand." The leather slipped out of his fingers as the ring left his possession.

Though Gowen couldn't see it, Legolas clasped the ring close and whispered almost inaudibly, a familiar but painful question to one not present. "Ai, Estel, what has happened to you now, mellon nin?"

The only way Aragorn would have given his ring to the protection of another was if he knew his life was in mortal danger. From what Legolas had discovered about Ralorn, that assumption was not unlikely.

"Will you help him?" Gowen pleaded, almost desperate.

Legolas' voice quickly hardened with resolve. "I swore I would not go home until he is with me. Do not fear; I will not let him be subject to such cruelties without a fight."

The boy breathed a sigh of relief. "It really is you." The words made Legolas smile a little.

"Now, you must listen to me carefully." Legolas leaned closer, again placing Barahir around Gowen's neck. "You will have to continue to Rivendell and give your message to Lord Elrond as was intended. The gash on Tole's leg was not critically deep and I have cared for it sufficiently; he should be ready to travel in a few hours, and it will be then that I part from you. Let go of your fear for Strider; I will do my best to take care of him and bring him home. You may find two more elves somewhere in this forest along your way. They are Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond and Strider's older brothers. If Valar permits you should meet, tell them what you have told me and to make haste! I fear I may need them before this is over. They can track your path, so do not waste time giving directions. But always, keep your goal Rivendell. Tole knows the way, and he'll protect you."

"Of that I have no doubt."

"Valar willing, we will all make it back home."

"Is your home like Rivendell?" Strider had not said much of his home, and he knew little already of the elves of Rivendell. Legolas spoke as one who knew the ways of this elven haven quite well.

"No, my home is Mirkwood and the realm therein, some distance from Imladris and very different," Legolas said, but with a touch of fondness in his tone continued. "Though Rivendell is very dear to me as well."


	10. To Know My Enemy

Chapter 9

**To Know My Enemy**

Legolas allowed Tole to recuperate as long as he dared, but need drove him strongly and it looked as though the stallion felt the same. Aragorn's horse had been on his feet within a half-hour of the searing, and the pain of the burn had faded thanks to the herbs Legolas had given him. He was eager to continue to Rivendell, and Legolas was anxious to track the path to the cave. His heart warred within him. Gowen's news of Strider and this information about the man's future was unsettling.

Legolas boosted Gowen back onto Tole, settling the teenager carefully on the stallion's back. Gowen's leg was now firmly splinted and should survive long enough until they reached Rivendell. There he could receive better and more qualified attention. Gowen adjusted his leg until it was as comfortable as it could get on the back of a horse.

"Here," Legolas said, giving Gowen a bundle, carefully wrapped.

"What's this?" Gowen fingered the wrapping, feeling something soft and crinkly underneath.

"Herbs, for both you and Tole. If you sense Tole is in pain, or you feel any yourself, these will help." Legolas settled another bundle directly across Gowen's lap, something large and thick, but soft. "The road will be long to Rivendell; this is my blanket and food, all I can give. I pray they will be of some use before you reach the end of your journey."

Gowen's arms wrapped around the life-giving gifts. "Thank you," he whispered, unsure of what else to say. He had left too suddenly and Aragorn could send him with nothing but the hope that the boy would run into someone who could help.

Legolas gave him a smile he couldn't see. "Get to Rivendell alive and know that what I have given you is small compared to what you have given me." Legolas' voice became strained. "I fear for my friend, and though I wish we could part in lighter moods, I fear it will not be so this time."

"I agree with you. Just help Strider and you will have repaid me enough. I - I cannot bear the thought of his torment." Gowen clutched the blanket tighter.

"No such thing will happen if I have anything to say about it. I swear if they harm him at all they won't live to regret it." And Legolas meant it too. He had heard too much of this elf's evil side, and if he had done anything to Aragorn...

"Be safe," Gowen cautioned the elf.

"Don't worry about me. Now, it is time to be off." Legolas went to Tole's head, fondly stroking the stallion's face. His eyes were bright and Tole watched him carefully.

"Belain na le, Tole. Calo anor na ven," Legolas whispered his blessing for a safe journey home. "The Valar be with you, Tole. May the sun shine on your road."

Tole nickered, and then at a pat from Legolas began walking the way the prince directed him. Heading more or less south to Rivendell, Legolas waited until he knew Tole and Gowen were safely on their way. The land stretched out in front of his eyes, the sky bright. When he turned back toward the path he was to take, Legolas noticed clouds gathering from the north. Tole and Gowen may not see the skies open, but the elf prince was sure he would. The wind whistled gently around him as he returned to the clearing.

Returning to Silme's side, Legolas stroked her gently before leaping lightly onto her back. She had recovered from her shaking as a result of the earthquake hours past, but she now refused to let that hinder them any longer. Legolas directed her in the direction Tole and Gowen had come from, listening to and now understanding the silence of the forest around him, and the growing dark.

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Aragorn didn't know how long he was in their clutches. Didn't know how long he screamed at them until his voice was hoarse. Didn't know how many times he called for help of those he held most dearly. He yanked against his restraints despite the pain it caused him, pulling his arms beyond what they could handle and turning his shoulders black and blue from the treatment. The pain was intensifying with every moment.

His own pain he inflicted on himself was nothing compared to what Lom and Mayroniel did to him. For hours they tormented him. Beat and kicked him. Used whips and clubs to help subdue him. They did their work and they did it well. They stripped him of his boots and used the whip against his feet, over and over again until his leggings had been ripped to the knee and both his feet bleeding under the abuse. His cries turned to breathless grunts of absolute suffering as the elves spoke to him darkly in their native tongue, and beat him around between the two of them with their fists and a bullwhip until they had fractured three ribs and the man was nearly sobbing for breath.

"Help me take him out of the restraints." Mayroniel's cold voice to Lom bore into him at one point, as deeply as the whip that now cut into his back.

"Ada..." Aragorn whispered desperately, no longer fully in the waking world. He longed for his father, for home. "Ada, please... please..." Lom and Mayroniel took him roughly out of the chains, not giving him the chance to move from where he landed before starting a new, horrific method of torment that Aragorn violently fought against until he could struggle against them no more. His body had been weakened too much.

Before, he had wanted to run, he had wanted to fight back, he had wanted to be free of this... but no, that wasn't his wish at this moment.

Now, he wanted to die.

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Tole's trail was not hard to follow in the beginning. Crushed undergrowth and traces of blood readily told of the stallion's earlier dash through the trees to escape the orcs. Gradually however, the signs became fewer and more spread apart as Legolas traveled farther along the path. Even for a stallion Tole's normal gait was light, often hard to read when he was not trying to run while injured. Legolas often told Silme to walk slower to read the ground from horseback, muttering to himself that Aragorn must have taught his horse how to hide his tracks as well.

After about a half hour of tracking the signs on the ground seemed to disappear all together. Legolas told Silme to stop and dismounted, pressing his hand to the earth and searching for any of the stallion's light tread that may not have been so apparent from atop Silme's back. Silme stepped closer to him and let her head fall to the ground, whiffing at the grass, dirt, and tree debris littering the ground. Legolas patted her neck and moved forward a few feet, brushing aside long grass to get a better look at a mark in the ground he had spotted.

Silme lifted her head slowly, testing the wind. She smelled something carried in the breeze, but it was not a scent she immediately recognized. A flicker of fear passed through her, and she nickered gently to her master who was still bent on the ground, intently studying the tracks he was trying to read and had lost his focus of the possible danger around them.

Legolas looked up at Silme when she called to him, reading the flash of concern in her eyes. She sensed something nearby, he was sure of it, and it worried her. He pulled one of his ivory knives out of its sheath, holding it ready in his hand as he stood slowly. They were in a dangerous position and now Legolas chastised himself for being so careless. At the foot of a rocky decline and surrounded by the fallen limbs of broken trees, they were far from safe. Anything could be lying in wait.

Carefully and slowly, Legolas backtracked to Silme's side, trying to sense the wind as she had. When he put a hand on her side, he could feel the tense muscles of the mare's body. Something was near, and now he could feel it too.

It was oddly familiar, but he felt a trace of darkness that threw him off a bit. Yet he knew it wasn't orcs. It was something much stronger.

Keeping one hand on Silme's shoulder, Legolas closely examined the surrounding area, searching for any type of movement or disturbance that was not at the fault of the wind. Sharp eyes took in all detail in every direction. Silme too looked about nervously, gently stamping the ground.

Then, Legolas found the source of their tension. Not a hundred feet away and concealed in the leafy branches of a strong tree far to his left was another elf. The prince's eyes bore right into the intruder's, for a moment struck with surprise and uncertainty about what to do. He gripped the knife in his hand tighter. He was familiar with this sort of strategy, it was one used back at home. A spy. So this was the right way. No one would send a scout if there was not something out here to guard. Legolas knew he was close, very close. He also knew that he was in danger.

The elf in the tree had not yet moved, content for the moment to study the prince. Both his feet were not on a branch as one would expect but pressed up against the trunk, suspended in the air by his left hand wrapped around a branch over his head. His right arm fell straight down, unmoving but tense and ready. His heavy dark cloak concealed much of his physical appearance though by the outlining stature Legolas was sure this elf was tall and strong. A hood covered his head, overshadowing half of the elf's face, though his eyes were bright enough that the prince could see the other watching him. There was not a physical attribute that proved the elf was an elf, but Legolas did not need any witness when he knew how his race differed from all others. What had confused him in the beginning was a lingering trace of evil that had wrapped itself around the other elf, a sense of dread that few could feel. Creatures sensitive to nature could feel the difference where others could not. Both Legolas and Silme were acutely connected to the earth and could sense the unfamiliarity of this elf.

This discovery of understanding passed through the two elves in a moment's notice, both taking in and comprehending who the other was. The elf in the tree could see the prince clearly as a being of light, of hope, and his heart reviled against it. The prince's light was pure and free. After a moment the scout recognized Legolas. The prince may not have known it but the elf knew who he was, knew he was of a royal line. There were few differences between them and only one mattered - the desire that drove them to live their lives as they chose. It was a simple thing, but it had the largest effect, for it defined them as being either good or evil.

Silme whimpered next to him and Legolas shook himself out of the strange trance he seemed to have fallen into. He shushed her gently, easing her back into silence before taking a step forward the elf in the trees. The elf had made no move, obviously waiting for him to do something first.

"Who are you?" Legolas called out to the elf, his voice easily reaching the other being of his race. He was frustrated and confused, unsure of what to expect and that put the prince on edge.

The elf finally decided it was time for action, lightly dropping from the tree and landing smoothly on his feet, his gaze never leaving the prince's. His eyes were piercing as he spoke next, filled with fire.

"Someone you will wish you had never met, Prince of Mirkwood," the elf said in a deadly whisper, the tone sending a wave of shock and fear into Legolas' system. This elf knew who he was, knew where he was from... and when he was alone that knowledge was dangerous in the wrong hands.

Above him, Legolas heard a soft whisper of something falling through the air, having time to only look up and know he was too late. A large, heavy net fell from the sky and landed on him, tangling up around his body and knocking him to the ground. His senses caught up with his mind and though he still had retained a firm grip on his knife, he knew he was trapped. Something heavy landed near him, and Legolas could barely twist around to see another elf drop to the earth from the trees. Silme roared next to him in surprise and fear.

It had all been a plot, a plan. The first elf had only been a distraction, nothing more, and it had worked. The prince chastised himself savagely for this mistake. He should have known it was a trick, should have known there would be more than one waiting for him and anyone else coming this way, should have known so much! But he had not. Legolas struggled with his bonds but the net had him firm. Pulling the rope around his hand that held the knife he cut through a section of the net, freeing one arm. But it wasn't fast enough, nor was the net near enough shorn to give him much of an advantage in this situation. The elf that had dropped the trap walked closer to him, unsheathing no weapon and proving that they wanted to take Legolas alive.

Legolas had no desire to be captured by these two elves; the first elf he had seen now joining the second on the scene. It may prove fruitless but he would not go without a fight.

Silme screamed in rage when the net had fallen, missing her by inches and catching her master instead. Her frantic cries as she watched Legolas struggle with the net drew the attention of the other two elves, and one of them notched his bow. He was going to shoot the mare.

Legolas, caught though he was, yelled out to the horse. "Run, Silme! Go! Go! Go! Run!"

Silme needed little urging, she was already prancing on her feet. She never would have left the elf's side unless he bid her otherwise, and if she stayed much longer the attackers would have killed her for sure. She raced for the cover of the trees, roaring her fear and frustration as she went, quickly disappearing beyond the dense forest and fading from view.

The elf that had notched his bow eased the tension on the arrow. There was no reason to go after the mare; all they wanted was the elf that rode her. Neither of them had guessed that this particular elf would be who he was, and the prospect was exciting.

Legolas began cutting through the net madly, trying to detangle himself from his confines and gain a better stance. But it seemed like every time he cut though the netting it found new ways to grip him and hold him down. The two elves noticed his failure and rushed him suddenly, catching him between the two of them and pinning the prince to the ground.

Legolas wrestled against them desperately. He got lucky once and a wild swing of his knife found the flesh of one elf's shoulder. Blood stained the cold blade and the elf he had injured grabbed the prince's wrist in an unexpected move, wrenching the weapon away. As soon as Legolas lost the weapon he knew he had lost. He had no advantage any longer; he could not fight without weapons subdued as he was. He did not give up however. He fought against them with everything he had, and trapped though he was he was still a force the other elves found more than a little difficult to deal with.

A sudden, unexpected hot flash a pure pain filled Legolas' senses as the elves used excessive force in the attempt to control him, using the prince's own knife to cut a deep gash into the side of his leg from the middle of his thigh to his knee. Legolas could feel blood running down his calf and staining his torn leggings and it left him in shock long enough for his attackers to properly bind him so he could no longer effectively fight back. Bound and gagged on his side, Legolas began to breathe deeply though the restraint placed on him and ceased to move.

"Finally," the first elf exhaled through his teeth, clearly annoyed. "This isn't the one Lord Ralorn wants, is he?"

"No, but we have to take him back anyway." The other elf responded to his comrade. "Mayroniel said to bring back anyone who came this way. Besides, don't you know who this is?" he gestured at Legolas.

"Wait a moment... I do! Well, it's not every day you catch a prince out by himself." The elf sounded amused. "He's King Thranduil's son without a doubt. At the very least he should make Ralorn happy."

"Go call the horses, send one back to me and ride ahead. Inform Ralorn of what we are bringing him. Take this with you." He handed the blood-stained knife to the other. The first elf nodded at the request and turned away, running toward a dense thicket where they had hidden their own steeds.

The second elf looked back at Legolas with a cold glare. "You will be more than useful, prince. Lord Ralorn has been waiting for a sign that someone was coming, and now he's got one." He glanced at his shoulder, where Legolas had cut him. The gash was not deep and after a quick assessment of the injury he gave it no more thought. It was not serious enough to hamper him in the slightest.

A brown horse trotted up the elf from the thicket and stopped near the being, waiting patiently. The elf lifted Legolas none-too-gently off the ground and laid him stomach down over the horse's withers before springing up to sit behind him. Legolas resisted the urge to moan as his injury burned him under the treatment, the gash far deeper than the one he had dealt.

Celebnar had gone, now Silme was too. He still didn't know what had happened to the twins that day, not knowing if they had survived or not. He didn't even know if he wanted the twins to come or not. As for himself Legolas wasn't weary yet. Not by a long shot. There was still much that he knew he had to do.

_'I don't care how they take me, I don't care what they do,'_ Legolas prayed in determination as he tried to balance himself over the rocking gait of the horse underneath him. _'Just take me to Estel, and I will ask no more. Just take me to him.'_

As if the elf with him had read his mind, he spoke. "You're friends with the human we took, aren't you? Ralorn would have us go spy on him for many years. He was often with you."

Legolas froze, unsure if he should trust his voice to speak.

"Why would you choose the company of such a worthless race is beyond me. He's got spirit, I'll give him that, but we received word a short while ago that he tried to escape." The elf looked down at Legolas dispassionately. "You better pray you can still recognize him when we get to the cave, if you get to see him at all. The Lord Ralorn does not take kindly to trouble-makers."

Legolas' breath snagged in his throat. The elf refused to say more about Aragorn's condition, but the prince knew he was not going to like what would most likely find.

"Estel..." he breathed. Though he couldn't stand admitting it, he was scared for his friend, and that alone terrified him.

000000000000

"Steady..." Silore pounded the block of wood with a mallet near the top to be sure it would hold. Ralorn was kneeling below him, holding the wood in place. "It'll hold," the elf said in satisfaction when the plank no longer moved.

The lower tunnels had been sealed to sufficient measures and anything they could find - mostly supplies - of use was taken to a higher room in the cave. There was little need to go deep and Ralorn was now grateful they had not. It would have been detrimental if they had. About an hour before Silore had left the last of the work to him so the elf could go cut down the support beams they were now using. Silore had found very few, but enough to secure the lower tunnels from further disruption... or so they hoped. If there was another earthquake of the same magnitude there was a good possibility the cave wouldn't be able to take another hit.

Ralorn heard the sound of booted feet before they reached where he was, recognizing the step as one of the guards he had Mayroniel send out. Twisting on his feet he shifted his position until his side rested against the block that Silore was stabilizing and waited.

Another guard rounded the corner and stopped, bowing slightly to Ralorn.

Ralorn stood. "Silore, finish up here. Once the path is stable, go see if Arahil has returned yet. I want him to be here for later events."

"I shall," the elf replied, eyeing the wall carefully and testing the strength of the planks to be sure they held.

"Come," Ralorn gestured to the other guard and motioned him to follow. "I wish to know what you have to tell me, Árë."

Árë nodded, walking up next to his master and taking a wrapped bundle out from behind his belt. "First, I wish to show you this." He unwrapped Legolas' knife and handed it to Ralorn.

Ralorn let the long knife rotate through his fingers, studying the craft and workmanship of the blade. "Who does this belong to?" A glint entered his eyes. "Have they come?"

"No, my lord, they have not, but someone else has. Faroth and I have captured the prince of Mirkwood, Legolas Thranduilion coming toward here. Faroth is bringing him and he sent me ahead to give you this." He pointed to the knife as they walked.

When Ralorn did not reply right away, Árë continued. "I am certain he will not be the only one. They are coming for sure, my lord. They will be here soon."

Ralorn gripped the knife suddenly. "Yes, they will." He stopped suddenly in the cavern, an odd, faraway look in his eyes as he spoke next.

"Árë, I want you to return to Faroth and escort him back. I don't want anything to happen to him or what he's bringing. And make haste! It will begin to rain soon. When you return and we have secured the prince, be prepared to set out again. I want to go met the twins out there."

Árë looked at him curiously. "But, my lord, we don't even know if they will arrive tonight. It could be tomorrow before they make any appearance!"

"Don't worry, Árë," Ralorn was nodding to himself in confidence. "They'll be here. I can promise you that. They will be here."

Árë nodded slowly, not understanding but unwilling to ask further questions and provoke Ralorn's anger onto himself. "I will do as you say." He turned and headed toward the entrance of the cave again. This would prove to be a most interesting night, indeed.

Ralorn waited until Árë was out of sight and hearing before opening the door to his left, a soft cry of utter distress greeting him as he entered.

Mayroniel was standing over the human with such a fierce look in his eyes. Blood was running down the side of his face from a gash next to his eye, and Lom stood nearby, looking rather surprised. The human should have been beyond resisting by now. How had he found the strength to fight back?

"What happened?" Ralorn's voice was calm but the tone was firm, indicating the injury the other elf had taken. Mayroniel looked up at him, looking far more than annoyed. There was no way the man could have had that much energy left, because although Mayroniel would never say it to anyone, that punch had surprisingly hurt.

"The human tried to fight back," he said by way of explanation, knowing the rest was obvious. His only saving grace was that his own retaliation had been swift. Aragorn now sported a gash near his eye as well, though his was much deeper and bleeding harder.

Aragorn cowered close to the ground, trying to regain his breath. His arms were useless, dead weight at his sides that brought him only sharp, blood-curdling pain. He was sure they had barely been short of dislocating, but the muscles so torn and bruised it gave him nothing but unimaginable grief. His feet were no different. He tried desperately not to flex his legs, though at the random slams of boots making harsh contact on his body did not leave him with much control. He pressed his forehead down against the ground, trying to hold back the tears. He had not cried yet during his torment though as time went on the reaction was becoming harder and harder to push aside. They had hurt him. Oh, how they had hurt him was something he didn't know if he would ever be able to live with in the end.

Ralorn looked dispassionately at the sickly look of the human. The ranger had taken a harsh beating; the look of him was enough to attest to that. Mayroniel and Lom had done their job well.

"Back away," he told the two elves firmly, allowing him the space he needed to talk to the man. He wanted to know a few things before the ranger left this world.

"Tell me something before you die, human," the elf muttered, watching the other closely. "Who are you, that some of the most powerful elves alive would risk their lives to save yours? Why do they protect you? You are nothing, Edain, your life is too short and worth little. Tell me why they care."

His voice was harsh; it made Aragorn flinch.

Aragorn didn't know if he would be able to open his mouth. He couldn't even look at Lom or Mayroniel, though he could sense they were both close at hand. Their close proximity made his heart sick. He continued to lay on his side, not ignoring Ralorn's question, but at a loss at how to answer. His heart and mind were in dark distress. His throat caught, the urge to succumb to tears thickening. But he could not, he wouldn't! Not in front of them. If nothing else he would not give them that pleasure of knowing how much they had torn him, his body, his heart, and his life apart.

"They are my kin," the man whispered so gently he barely heard his own voice, his breath coming in ragged and shallow. It was a testiment to his strength of heart that he could find any power to speak. "And I would... do no less for them."

"That does not answer my question," Ralorn said angrily at him. "Why you?"

"I do not... understand sometimes, why... anymore than you... but they chose me... they believe... in me..."

"And yet they take so long in coming for you."

Aragorn shut his eyes. "I hope... they never come."

"What?" Ralorn watched him with a look of surprise mixed with his anger. "Don't you wish to live; don't you want them to save you?"

"I do not wish... them to die... I would rather die... so they could live..." Aragorn was fast loosing his voice, his body fading to shock. But his voice, though weak, was sincere. "I want... their lives... more than you want... their deaths."

Ralorn turned away. He was disgusted and confused. All the humans he had ever met only cared for themselves. They thought the world's existence and everyone else in it was at their expense. They were arrogant, they were so foolish. He hated them. He saw no purpose in their existence. It was why he had gone into slave trading, to help the human race receive some of the real usefulness he felt it needed. Slave trading in the Misty Mountains was scarce but worth a small group just like the one he had sold several days before.

But seeing his childhood tormenters, who could not see how hurt and confused he had been, take in a human whelp when they had not even given him a chance was so crushing on his spirit that he thought it would kill him.

It was the desire of a broken heart; marred by grief and blackened with sorrow... it was almost too grievous to behold. The worst of it was, Ralorn cared not for the outcome of this, all he wished was to be rid of the ones that had destroyed him and then they could throw his body for the sport of the orcs in Mordor for all he cared. At least what he wanted would be done.

"You know not of what you speak. They may pretend to care, but one day they will betray you as they did me."

Aragorn finally looked up, a withdrawn, cold look in his eyes. He knew nothing still of Ralorn's past experience with the twins, but he knew it differed vastly from his own, most likely seen then and now in the wrong light. He would not believe any such accusations of his brothers by words alone. He trusted them more than that.

"Never," he whispered. To his dying breath he would never accept such claims.

"Then you condemn yourself," Ralorn hissed. "Believing that they will continue to protect you. They don't think you are worthy of their time even, so they sent someone else."

Aragorn's gaze turned chill. He did not believe that the twins would refuse to come, but he did not doubt they would have brought or sent help.

"You see, we've caught a friend of yours. I know you know him... does a certain prince of Mirkwood mean anything to you?"

Aragorn froze, disbelieving. At a gesture from Ralorn that the man did not see, Lom stepped forward and gripped the ranger's shoulders, ignoring the man's soft cry of distress as his body was pulled upright on his knees.

"Oh yes, Strider, you can remove any thought you had of escape. If you stop putting up such a fight we might let you see him again. He'll be here soon."

"I don't-don't believe you-" He could barely hold himself up, if not for one hand on his shoulder and the other tangled in his hair he would have fallen again.

"Does this look familiar?" Ralorn picked up the knife that a guard had brought him moments before. The silver and gold blade glinted, yet on the edge a reddish stain lingered. Aragorn knew that knife, it was unmistakable. Yet what it meant was unthinkable!

"No, no that's-that's not... possible...-"

_Legolas!_

"Still don't believe me? Well, that's a shame. For you anyway." The man's reaction was all it took to clear any lingering doubt he may have had. Ralorn now knew he had something else to use against the man, and the twins when they got here.

The ire and disdain ate away at the ranger. Aragorn took in another deep breath, but it felt as if he could only fill his lungs halfway. He couldn't believe him; he couldn't believe Legolas had been caught! What was the prince even doing this far north? Yet even as he tried to convince himself Ralorn's piercing but brutally honest eyes bored right into him.

A fading bout of anger rippled its way into Aragorn's head, and with all the strength he could muster he spit right at Ralorn's feet. It was pointless and wouldn't go unpunished, but right then Aragorn was in too much pain and too full of confused rage to care.

"You will regret that," Ralorn hissed, letting his head fall in a slight downward jerk. Mayroniel stepped forward and belted Aragorn across the face, and Lom allowed the weakened ranger to fall to the floor.

Aragorn made no attempt to try and stand. He couldn't even work up enough energy to expel the blood from his mouth. Heavy gloved hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, pulling him roughly to his knees, then this time his feet. Breathless grunts of pain escaped him as pressure to his feet increased. He hadn't recovered nearly enough to stand, and looking down at each foot he could see the growing pools of red spreading over the ground. Yet even with the breathtaking pain, nothing was comparable to the sharpness of the knife that had been pressed against his heart.

He moaned, blood dripping from his mouth. "I won't... let you... hurt them!"

He was cut off as a hard glove punched him in the gut; the hands on his shoulders letting him fall backwards to the floor. He cried out softly but sharply as he landed hard on his tailbone, sending searing fire up his spine. Curling his torso over his stomach but leaving his legs limp, he shuddered once and then lay still, his face strained tight in breathless moans.

The guards were surprised. He was still trying to resist them? How could a mortal stand such torment and still do such a thing?

"Enough." Ralorn's icy voice rang from the side of the room. "Good work, Mayroniel, but we can't have him dying on us _just_ yet. Let him regain some strength for a few hours, and then he'll go completely into your hands if his brothers don't come for him."

Aragorn groggily listened to Ralorn, Mayroniel, and the other two guards leave the room and secure the door tightly. They had taken all the lamps with them, leaving him in utter darkness. He limply shut his eyes.

He couldn't move now. He could hardly breathe. Pain shot down his back and legs, bringing home just how far gone he was. His back was lifeless and ringing, and his feet long deadened with cruel treatment. He had been robbed of the ability to move, much less walk and attempt escape as was his want. Every time he shifted his tailbone would scream with harsh warning, leaving him fully unable to seek a better position and relieve the pain.

The horror of what his tormentors had done and what they planned to do blocked out any comfort he might have sought. The taunts, the laughing, the abuse, and the beatings stayed with him, freezing him where he lay on his side with fear. The head wound on the side of his face was bleeding badly, running over his eyes now and down the opposite cheek to pool on the ground. He could not claim enough strength to his fingers to swipe the blood away.

"Please..." he moaned as shock-induced unconsciousness rushed into his eyes, "Someone... anyone... take me away... from this..."

Darkness claimed him again and mercifully made the pain fade so he could wander within himself, treading closer to a steep endless cliff where a void waited to take away what little life he had left.

000000000000

Arahil rode silently into the front clearing and stopped next to the cave entrance. Swinging one leg off Asfaloth's back, he slid to the ground and began to untie the large steer he had managed to bring down. The carcass dropped to the dusty forest floor from Asfaloth's back, and the white stallion nickered happily as the burden hit the ground.

Leaving the steer where it landed, Arahil walked over to Asfaloth's side and began to clean the blood from the stallion's white back. As he worked, his thoughts turned quickly to those inside the cave. He wondered how Aragorn was doing in his absence. The deer had been hard to find, becoming more scattered among the mountain ranges thanks to the now frequent earthquakes and he had to travel a good distance before finding a herd fit to hunt.

Right then his sharp ears caught the sound of running feet, coming closer to where he stood from the inside of the cave. Asfaloth's coat was white now, so he released the horse and turned to the steer, preparing to drag it into the cave, awaiting whoever was coming.

"Arahil!"

Arahil looked up in time to watch one of the guards, Silore, run out of the cave entrance. The guard ran to him, his face alight with a strange excitement.

"Arahil, it is good you have returned. Lord Ralorn asked me to see if you had returned." Silore leaned over to help Arahil with the carcass. Árë had left perhaps ten minutes before to find Faroth and help bring Legolas to the cave. All was going as Ralorn wanted.

Arahil looked up curiously at the guard as they lifted the carcass between them, working to make the steer easier to carry. "Why? Is something happening?"

Silore looked taken aback that Arahil didn't know, but then remembered that the young elf had not been around at all during the day. "We're going to finish dealing with the human. Lord Ralorn is only giving him one more chance for the twins to get here, but my bet is that the human will be dead by sunrise." Silore lead the way into the cave, completely missing the open look of horror on Arahil's face. Dead by sunrise?

"What-what have you done to him?" Arahil tried to keep his voice calm and casual, but for the life of him he could not stop the shiver down his spine that seemed to ripple through his voice. Luckily, Silore didn't notice.

"Mayroniel and Lom have beaten him good enough. He can't even stand now." Silore adjusted the weight of the steer on his shoulder. "He's being given a few hours to rest. That's why Lord Ralorn sent me to see if you had returned. He wants you to go out with him and the others to hunt down the sons of Elrond."

Arahil was speechless. He silently followed Silore into the cool room to drop off the steer, and then as fast as he could he ran to where he had left Strider. All thoughts of preparing the deer were shot, even though Arahil knew Ralorn wouldn't be happy with him leaving the carcass unfinished.

Snatching a lit lamp from its hook on the wall just outside the rough door, he reached for the doorknob and jingled it. It wouldn't give. It was locked, just like it should have been. Good. It meant no one was inside.

Undaunted, Arahil reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring of keys Ralorn had given him that morning. Selecting one particular silver one, he shoved the key in the lock and winced at the echoing click that bounced down the hallway. No one came, caught up in business elsewhere in the cave.

Listening for a moment to make sure no one was coming, he silently stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him and letting the lamp cascade its soft glow to touch the walls. The firelight of the lamp illuminated the small room well enough to easily find the ranger on the floor. Though Arahil knew that he could have found the man easily enough without the lamp, he wanted to see exactly what they had done, no matter what it was. But when Arahil got close enough, he physically lost the ability to breathe.

Clothed only in a badly torn pair of leggings, Arahil could see the worst of the injuries. Whatever skin that was not dark with bruises and welts was a pale, sickly white. The man was so thin from lack of food, water, and fresh air that Arahil could make out every rib underneath the paleness of his skin. Whip marks outlined the young ranger's back, and his feet scarred horribly in the same fashion, lying in a small area of soft earth stained darkly. The open gash on the side of his face had finally ceased to bleed, but bloody ribbons streaked down his face, dried now and hiding his eyes from view. Ai, it was a devastating sight!

Arahil slowly walked forward and knelt slowly by Aragorn's side, sinking to his knees in disbelief. Horror made the young elf shake, and reaching forward he lightly touched Aragorn's bruised cheek with trembling fingertips.

The man flinched and groaned at the soft contact, pulling his head closer to his chest and quickly stopped moving, but Arahil did not miss the small whimpers of fear that followed, a sad plea to be left alone.

Seconds later Arahil was running down the hall, his eyes burning. Weaving his way through the main tunnel he finally made it outside and whistled shrilly for Asfaloth. The white stallion immediately came to him, leaving behind the forage he had found. As he trotted up to Arahil, the normally strong-willed elf burst into tears.

Alarmed, Asfaloth stopped in front of his master and nuzzled his head comfortingly against Arahil's face, but stiffened a little when he could smell a trace of human blood on the elf's hand. Arahil gently wrapped his arms around the horse's neck, crying softly into his mane.

"I failed him, Asfaloth," he moaned. "I didn't keep him safe. I never should have left. They're going to kill him, Asfaloth!" He hugged the stallion tighter. "He's going to die." Asfaloth only nuzzled the elf's shoulder blade, feeling the suffering in the age-old, perpetually young body.

Turning to the cave entrance, Arahil whispered heartbroken words, meant for one locked away in a small, dark room. "I'm so sorry, Estel. I tried my best to keep you safe, but I fear I can no longer do this alone. I've tried to be there for you ever since I discovered you were taken, risking everything. But now I think it's time to take back who I really am."

Turning back to Asfaloth, Arahil hugged the horse one last time for courage and reassurance. Then sighing deeply, Arahil reached back behind his head and began to undo the ties that held his hair back in the style of a warrior.

Shaking out his hair until it hung loosely down his back, his gaze seemed to soften, losing the hard, expressionless gaze that it had grown accustomed to. His entire being seemed to relax, still the same and yet stunningly different. Arahil turned and prepared to mount up. Asfaloth nickered, ready and willing.

"Where do you think you are going?" A voice suddenly exploded from somewhere inside the entrance of the cave.

Arahil stopped and stared as Mayroniel stepped forward. Mayroniel's gaze was cold, and Arahil suddenly felt his heart speed up. How much had he heard? What did he know?

Trying to pretend as though nothing as different, Arahil answered casually and truthfully. "I go to find Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Lord Elrond."

"Oh, are you?" Mayroniel took a few steps forward, trying to catch Arahil's gaze as the young elf tried to mount up, swinging his leg over Asfaloth's bare back. "Want to add to the fun, do you?"

"No." Arahil's voice was hard, but changed somehow. He knew exactly what Mayroniel was referring to and it burned him inside. "I go to ask them for help."

"What?" Mayroniel stopped in his tracks, staring up at the even, cool stare of the rider on the white stallion. "Do you seek to betray us?" his voice turned hard and flinty. He never liked Arahil since the day he had joined them, something about the young elf that never sat right with him.

"I have from the beginning." Asfaloth began to back away at the gentle pressure of Arahil's legs.

Mayroniel hissed in anger and pulled the long knife from his belt, advancing on horse and rider. Betrayal was never something he took lightly, and his temper rose again. Teeth clenched, he looked up at the young rider and a faded beacon of sunlight swept over them both as the gathering clouds allowed a break in their increasing size. It was then that he noticed something about Arahil he had not seen before, something he would not have unless the other elf told him to look for it. It made the elf pause for a moment.

Arahil's hair was flowing softly in a gentle breeze, the dark tresses now framing his face. The hard glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by a gentle light softened with pain. He was suddenly transformed in Mayroniel's eyes. Arahil no longer looked like the young man he lead himself to be. It was amazing the change that had taken place just by Arahil taking out his hair and accepting his fate. Mayroniel growled for being deceived so.

"I knew there was something wrong with you," Mayroniel seethed at the rider, coming closer now. "Arahil, you-"

"My name is not Arahil," the unknown rider whispered, making Mayroniel stop again. The features may have changed, but that voice still held its stinging edge. Arahil threw away his old disguise and revealed the heavily guarded secret that he had held within since the beginning.

"My true name is Arwen, the daughter of Elrond Peredhel, the sister of Elladan and Elrohir, and the protector of the one called Strider. Here and now you discover my true identity, but you will discover no more from me."

Mayroniel looked up at the young elf he had known for only a scant measure of his time and froze. Confusion and understanding entered him at the same time. It made sense. The hiding, the unanswered past, the way Arahil had treated and often defended the man known as Strider. Here from the start to save the man, Arwen had hidden who she really was very well. Amazement wrapped around Mayroniel's thinking, shutting off all else. How could he have missed this?

With that said and the secret out, Arwen kicked Asfaloth in the sides. The great white horse swiftly carried the elf-maiden away from the cave, disappearing into the trees and leaving a speechless Mayroniel behind them.

Around the mountains, clouds where gathering in a vengeance. Thunder rumbled in the distance in fragments, soft but menacing. It was going to be a long night, and it did not look as if all would make it out alive.

"You swear to me that what you speak of is true?" Ralorn's voice was incensed and deadly. He did not take at all kindly to the news Mayroniel had just given him.

"On my life, my lord. I heard it from her own mouth. She deceived us from the beginning!"

Ralorn sat down in a nearby chair, placing his head in his hands. He couldn't believe it. His earlier feelings of mistrust toward the new guard had not been misplaced. Arahil had been Arwen all along? How in heaven's name had she known? She was the only one who had ever understood him, but in the end even she had left him. After all she had seen he could honestly say he knew why she had. This was not who he used to be, but so much had changed. Ralorn knew he needed to follow her, catch her before she got away... but he couldn't. There was no way he could harm her, and he couldn't bring her back. She was the most precious person he had ever known, had been his friend and confident when others looked away. She was all he had ever truly wanted, but now she was gone.

_'Am I doomed to never get what I want?' _

It was the first time in so many years that he felt as he did now. It was the first time Mayroniel had seen his commander so crushed. If Ralorn had a tender spot this was it - telling him the last of his hope for a life beyond this was gone. It shattered him, taking away the last of his resolve.

His limp hands found their strength and clenched slowly into fists against his eyes. His pain was suddenly evolving into rage. He was done waiting, done planning. He needed some satisfaction before the end, and there was only one way he would find it.

"Mayroniel," Ralorn said softly, low but dangerous. "Now is the time."

"What would you have me do?"

"Leave Silore to guard the prisoners, find Lom and prepare to set out. As soon as Faroth and Árë have returned we will lock up the prince and leave. I want to meet them head on, Mayroniel," Ralorn was glaring, but not at the other elf. "I want to make them pay."

In less than twenty minutes Ralorn's orders had been taken out. Silore had been posted as the only guard to be left behind, and Mayroniel and Lom had readied their horses. The weather was turning dark and cold, their breath ghosted in the air though they did not feel the bite of the wind. When Ralorn led his black horse out of the cave and stood to wait with the others, the sky was a dark grey and the wind was howling. It was going to start raining in minutes.

It was not long before Árë and Faroth came into view, bringing with them another being. The prince of Mirkwood had been bound and was now vertical in front of Faroth, but there was such a look of anger in his eyes that it would have rose to meet the deadly fire in Ralorn's own gaze. He had been relived of all his weapons; Árë now carried his bow, quiver, and knives.

"So there he is," Ralorn whispered as his kicked his horse forward, riding out to meet the other guards and the new prisoner. Three hundred feet from the entrance of the cave they met, and the guards stopped to wait for Ralorn to command them further.

Legolas watched the master of these men with no fear in his eyes. His eagerness to meeting Ralorn was nearly equal to Ralorn's eagerness to meet him. The uncovered burn scars on the other elf's face was a clear marker as to who he was. He had found the elf that hated Elladan and Elrohir, who had stolen Aragorn out from under everyone's noses, and then caught him to add to the price the twins would ultimately have to pay, if they ever made it here. Legolas still didn't know, but he didn't let that lack of knowledge color his reaction as Ralorn watched him just as closely.

"So you are of the royal family of Mirkwood. At last we meet." Ralorn said with no small amount of mocking in his tone. Faroth and Árë snickered. Legolas however, did not break the calmness of his gaze, nor did he did not speak yet.

"I'll have you know, my prince, that you are not my prime target. My course of revenge lies with the sons of Elrond. So, if you will excuse me, I have some traitors I need to find."

"Traitors?" Legolas spoke then, his voice suggesting there was more than just the twins' supposed betrayal. "Ralorn, I presume?"

"The one and only."

"I will have you know, that anything you have done or will do to any of the sons of Elrond including the one they claim as family will not go unpunished. If you have harmed the ranger or do anything to Elladan and Elrohir, you will not have only Rivendell seeking to bring justice down on your head; I will demand it as well."

Ralorn sighed, as if the demand for justice on his part had only amused him. "You have much to learn about what motivates me here," he told Legolas. "I care not for the outcome after my revenge is complete. And you claiming them as allies and friends will do you no good in your situation here, Legolas Thranduilion. I have no quarrel with Mirkwood or the royal family, it is not my desire to harm you, but if you lay a claim of friendship on any of Elrond's children or those he considers his, you become my enemy and a threat, and I will treat you as such."

"Of course I lay a claim of friendship to them, not only because I am their friend but because they are mine." Legolas was furious. There was so much hate and it was directed at things that could not change. "They have told me your story and I understand more than you would think, but if you have any shred of decency you will not harm those who have done you no wrong!" Legolas was referring specifically to Aragorn, trying to liberate for the man's life.

"You have done me wrong, whether you know the story or not! I had thought a prince of Mirkwood would not entertain the company of the merciless and the corrupt, but it appears that I was wrong. If you will not let them go, then you condemn yourself to their fate. I will allow the crimes done against me to go unpunished no longer. I will make the sons of Elrond pay, and I will make you pay for binding yourself to them."

"I will never betray them, and if it comes to such ends I would give my life for them. If you would know them as they are now, and not who they may have once been, you would find little reason to hate them, much less seek their blood."

"Enough." Ralorn raised a hand, cutting off all speech from the prince and directing his attention to the guards who had brought him. "Take him, lock him up tightly, and leave him under Silore's control. He can wait there until I say otherwise. We will leave when he is secure."

Legolas was dragged roughly to his feet and held tightly between Faroth and Árë. His leg quivered beneath him, it would not hold him up much longer. As the guards began to shove him away, Ralorn called back just before they disappeared inside what looked like a scar cut into the mountain, the entrance of the cave.

"Árë?" the elf turned and glanced back at his commander. "Don't be gentle."

A sudden hard punch to his kidney made Legolas double over, wincing hard from the shock of pain. Árë, of whom Legolas was sure had hit him, had wasted no time in responding to his master's request.

"As you wish, my lord."

As they entered, Legolas felt the brush of a raindrop against his cheek. The sky was finally opening.


	11. More Than You Think You Are

Chapter 10

**More Than You Think You Are**

Legolas was shoved into the small room and forced to his knees in one corner. His injured leg buckled underneath him and the elf could do nothing to get away, his strength fading to paralyzed shock. His arms were yanked behind him and cold steel manacles clapped about his wrists, digging into the soft flesh. Satisfied the elf wouldn't go anywhere, Árë and Faroth left, shutting the door behind them and plunging the already shadowed room into utter darkness.

Breathing rather hard, Legolas jerked his hands around, searching for a more comfortable position as he tried to gather his bearings. Heavy darkness clouded his sight to the point that he could only see vague shadows. He hated caves! The walls felt as though they were closing in on him, trapping his spirit. All he could make of this place for sure was of the walls made of close-packed wood, and the floor annoyingly damp and cold. The elf felt as though he were kneeling in water. His torn leggings allowed the chilling floor free access to his legs, quickly turning them numb with cold.

His senses suddenly caught another figure on the other side of the room. Relaxing slowly, he allowed his dimmed elvish glow to brighten by several degrees, bringing into detail the form of another being. The man he saw now was quiet and unmoving, his breathing soft and slow. Not even Legolas' eyes could detect any defined useful detail to visibly confirm what he felt he knew, since the man's face was turned from him. But somehow, his heart needed no witness.

"Estel?" he asked, his voice tainted with disbelief.

He heard the figure move ever so slightly, as if he had turned only his head from the wall to whoever had spoken. Silence echoed for a few moments until the man broke it, removing any and all doubt Legolas had left.

"Who... you?" The answering voice was wearily quiet; pain filled and slightly slurred. After several hours of torment and making no sounds save cries of distress had made his voice gruff. The shock of the pain he had known only a short while ago had worn down, allowing him more control. Yet even after all he had been through and endured, his voice was still his, and Legolas knew.

"Estel, it is you!" Legolas let relief flood through him. "It's me, Legolas!"

The man was silent for a few moments, searching for the answer that seemed to flicker under the far reaches of his mind.

"... Legolas?" Aragorn softly and slowly spoke the name that he had often blindly cried out in his pain. Then Ralorn had spoken the truth; they had captured the prince. Had his friend truly come? No a desperate dream he had prayed for come to life, not a trick, but the softly glowing figure was truly here for him?

Realization ripped apart the veil and Aragorn shifted to get up, to go to the prince, only to be stopped by his aching body. He groaned softly as he again rolled back to his side, again breathing deeply to soothe his racing heart. Pained as he was, he still did not cease to call for his friend. Desperately, he softly spoke out to the elf again; needing something, some physical contact so he could know the fair being was real. He couldn't see, his eyes wild in the thick, suffocating darkness, his ears struggling to catch the light sounds of his elf friend's voice he longed to believe was there.

Legolas walked forward on his knees, ignoring the hard ache in his leg and removing the small distance between them. Straining his arms and craning his head forward, he barely managed to reach out to the man. Once Aragorn knew his friend was close enough, he stopped Legolas' movement by leaning his head toward the elf's. The instant Aragorn could feel his friend's head lean against his own he let loose a small, broken up sigh. For the first time during this unbelievably slow, dark day he was with someone who didn't want to hurt him or kill him. The relief of it drove his deepening breath to hitch slightly, leaving him to finally shed the unwilling, silent tears he had held back. The sudden realization of his friend's suffering so close to the surface put Legolas' fear into overload. It was too soon for the man to have built any tolerance to his situation and though he desperately wished otherwise, the tears came freely.

"No, it is well Estel... I'm right here, right here. I've come, and I'm not going to leave you. Shh... Shh..." Legolas leaned his head closer and relaxed against his friend's head, trying to calm his young friend verbally until he felt something damp slid against his face. Tears... that belonged to the man.

"Legolas... please..." Aragorn whispered desperately into the elf's ear, afraid to move. "Please... get out... can't take anymore..." He winced hard, groaning and clenching his teeth against the waves of intense discomfort. His words were fumbled and his voice shook badly. He hurt so much.

For the first time Legolas really began to notice just how much the man shook, how cold he felt, and how the room smelled of pain... pain and blood. Particularly the corner Aragorn was in, for the elf hadn't really noticed anything unusual until now and his senses were tingling unpleasantly. The very feel of it was making the prince shudder, and the way Aragorn spoke was scaring him more than he wanted to admit. "Estel? _Mellon-nin_, what have they done to you?"

Legolas got a reaction he never would have expected coming from the man. Aragorn turned away from his friend and shakily pressed his forehead against the cold ground, physically unable to speak. His blood froze. He didn't want to reveal the shame and terror, not to Legolas... Valar spare him, not to anyone.

"Estel?" Legolas' voice was suddenly quiet and fearful. "Estel, what-"

"No." An odd whisper, like the moaning of a fierce wind, interrupted the elf. "... Please... don't ask."

"Estel-"

"No!" The ranger weakly lifted one arm to wrap around his head, stifling a cry as his shoulders strained in his attempt to hide. His tears were the only clue Legolas had to the layers and layers of aching guilt and fear. "Please... don't make me..."

"Estel, why do you fear me?" Legolas' voice was now confused and afraid, his heart twisting within him. Why? Why wouldn't Aragorn speak; let him help?

"I... cannot." The words were frighteningly soft, hardly louder than the patter of young feet. "... Cannot."

Legolas stared, disbelieving eyes taking in the form of his friend less than a foot from him. Aragorn never turned away from him like this. Never refused an offer of help in such a time of need... whatever hatred Legolas had borne for Ralorn and his men had now flared into a hotter rage. He was going to find out what Ralorn had done and kill the elf for his actions, for turning Aragorn away from those the man knew cared.

Fear and anger feed the adrenaline rush that suddenly flowed through the elf. He responded to it, knowing it was his only weapon to aide him now. Turning around and wrapping his hands around the chain that held him confined, he pulled it taunt and placed his feet up against the wall. Common sense was ignored in the face of his growing anger, cutting off all else. The walls made of thick, heavy wood; the chains strong and firmly bolted in place with steel bolts. But they did not matter anymore, for Legolas had what he needed; what he knew to be stronger than the craft of cold elves whose hearts were dead.

For just a moment he froze, listening to the sound of his own soft breathing, feeling the cold metal in his fingers, registering the tightness of its hold on the wall. Aragorn had grown very quiet; no longer could Legolas hear the sounds of his all-consuming anguish, hardly even the depth of his breathing. The still silence of his friend only hardened the elf's concentration.

All at once Legolas reared back, driving the chain back with him. The steel bolts strained but held firm, unwilling to loosen their hold. Shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth, Legolas pulled again, working to straighten his legs. The slow crawl of metal bending apart reached his ears, and Legolas let a small cry of anger escape him, putting all he had into his own freedom.

'_They can trap me,'_ he thought fiercely, _'but they can never hold me down!'_

Several small snapping noises came, and then the loud strained groans of the steel bolts attested to the fast weakening metal. It was the last resistance against the strength Legolas put forth, but finally gave in. A booming crack signaled the separation. The wood moaned in frustration as Legolas fell backwards a few feet, the limp chain still within his iron grasp. Legolas sighed in victory. He had done it.

The manacles that bound him had only a few feet or so of chain between them, limiting his movement. Very simply he stepped backwards over the chains so they where in front of him rather than behind. Not that he really cared at the moment how very secured he still was; all he wanted was to reach Aragorn, and now he could. Legolas inched his way over to the man's side, following the rhythm of his young friend's breathing.

When he had been left alone Aragorn had quickly learned to endure and control his pain, his mind struggling to accept and harness his fear. Over the last several minutes he had dedicated all his remaining strength to controlling his body. Much of the original shock that had so petrified him immobile was now fading, giving him the power to again speak and even move a little, but no amount of time as of yet could heal the hazardous effects on his own mind. His eyes were wide and terrified as he watched Legolas snap the chains that bound the elf, fear rippling through him. His friend had changed drastically in his eyes. The fierce concern written on the prince's face had turned to that of terrifying hate, transformed for the briefest of moments into one of his tormentors. If Legolas could break through chains as those similar to the ones that once held him suspended off the ground, what would the elf do to him, weak and defenseless as he was?

Legolas watched Aragorn attempt to curl up tightly into one corner as well as he could, wrapping his arms about his head but his legs lay straight and unmoving away from him. It was as if he was trying to bury away from the elf's glow. As Legolas reached out to the man, Aragorn's voice suddenly stopped him.

"Don't... touch me." The words were familiar, automatically spoken as he had when the guards had him, but now hoarse with emotion and echoed with the tone similar to the plea of a small child. If possible he curled up even tighter, wrapping his arms securely around his face and trying to pull his legs all the way into himself, but he moaned softly before they got halfway and stopped again.

Legolas was speechless, his hands falling back to rest in his lap. Not even in the early days of their friendship had Aragorn recoiled from any casual touch as sharply as he did now. Horror cut a harsh wound into Legolas' spirit. He had always been the one to back away from the man's touch, but he never thought Aragorn would do the same to him, not even in times as horrifying as this. His head bowed forward and a soft call of despair escaped him, allowing a tear he had been holding back to fall and he was thankful now for the intense darkness of the room.

"Estel," Legolas whispered the man's elvish name again as though he was trying to call him back from a field of dreams, tender and surprisingly calm, his voice effectively hiding what his face openly showed. "You know who I am. Whatever Ralorn did to you, you know I would never do the same." Legolas tried not to choke on the words, willing the strength to remain in his words. Whatever the guards had done, he knew it was much worse than he had thought it would be and he greatly feared now for his friend. "You trusted me before. Please Estel... I will not hurt you. Let me help you."

Aragorn slowly lifted his head inches above his arm and let his gaze rise to lock with his friend's. The movements made him wince hard, ripping through him in a wave of unconcealed torment. Yet his body throbbed still with so much since his last terrible beating that his mind hardly took notice anymore. What they had last done to him was far worse than any cruel treatment he ever really expected. He didn't want it to be this way. He had expected beatings, verbal torment, death even... but not this. Not what they had ended up doing to him to break his spirit. The lies the voices in his head fed him were shoved down, and Aragorn fearfully chose to listen to his heart instead. With his eyes he seemed to send Legolas a message that the elf immediately understood and responded to.

Moving closer until his elvish glow was again thrown over the man, Legolas let his eyes visibly examine his friend's body. Wiping away the tear that had fallen and sighing deeply, Legolas let one hand fall to his friend's head in a gesture of comfort and to discover any signs of a fever. At the gentle touch of the hand on his forehead Aragorn flinched, sucking his breath in sharply but fought the urge to pull away. The unspoken lesson his body had been taught for the last day was far too distraught and painfully learned to know with whom it was accompanied now. All it knew was that the touch of hurt came from the touch of others and recoiled against any attempt, no matter who or how gentle. Even so, Aragorn didn't even think he could get away if he truly even wanted to. Legolas quickly recognized the fear and soothed his friend with the quiet whisper of his voice, calming him well before trying to assess the nature of his injuries.

The only thing Aragorn wore was his leggings, so torn and ragged they did not even go past his knees, layered with the heavy scent of blood. Much of his exposed skin was a cold pale white that looked to be struggling to regain its natural color, but wherever there was an injury the flesh was raw and some bled still. Aragorn was shivering slightly from the chill of the room, his injuries helping him on no level. On the left side of his face a terrible gash had been opened and his once fair face was swollen with bruises and covered with blood. Right away Legolas could tell that injuries looked much worse than they really were, but he wasn't sure about what he could not see. Other than many other dark bruises, particularly the ones that wrapped around the ranger's shoulders and revealing only a fragment of a story filled with hideous treatment sessions, Legolas could see nothing that would cause his friend such pain and fear. He had seen Aragorn through such wounds before. Why was this any different?

"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, again lifting his hands and letting them hover over his friend. "Where is your pain?"

Silly as the question was, Aragorn understood. Slowly, carefully, he uncurled his legs. A stronger smell of blood struck Legolas right in the face. The elf first turned his attention to Aragorn's feet, easily the most discolored and garnering the most attention from the prince at first glance.

"May I touch your feet?" Legolas had no desire to frighten his friend more.

Aragorn's response was to again brace his forehead against the floor and close his eyes, forcing himself to breath slowly and deeply. He no longer trusted himself to speak, little as he already did, but Legolas took it as the permission it was. He let his hands fall to Aragorn's feet, but since he could not twist them around to see the soles, he shut his eyes and let his sensitive fingers tell him the story. Hardly a moment later his eyes shut tighter, both he and the man wincing at his touch; Aragorn in pain, him in disbelief.

Strips of skin greeted the elf's fingertips. Jagged, rough, bloody wounds marred the surface so badly that Legolas knew Aragorn was incapable of standing on his own with the wounds so deep and new. Legolas recognized the method even though he had never endured it himself. Someone had whipped the soles raw.

A slight flicker caught his eye and Legolas' attention was redirected to the man's thigh. Blood was slowly blossoming over the ripped fabric, but from what injury Legolas was uncertain.

"Estel, is there something wrong with your leg?"

Aragorn shook his head but his forehead did not move from the floor. He tensed like a terrified cat ready to spring as Legolas tried to find another wound; his fingers, through gentle, horrified the man much to his dislike. After a few moments of the elf searching, Aragorn spoke even more softly than before, dark fear flowing from his voice.

"Legolas," Gulping hard, he tried not to lose control, but it was proving too much for his overworked body and weary mind. His vision blurred as he spoke next. "It's not... leg."

"But then where-" Legolas froze as realization struck him like a kick in the guts. Oh Valar no... Please heaven, not like that! Not to discover that Aragorn's self-pride and dignity had been torn away. They had gone far beyond trying to break him. No wonder his fighting spirit had faded from him; his unique sparkle missing from his eyes. Legolas could almost feel himself melt in front of his friend as the answer flooded into his heart.

"Estel?" Legolas said in a low, frightened tone. "Did they... did they... oh Valar... Estel, did-did he rape you?"

Legolas recalled how the man had flinched under his touch, backing away from his presence but soon finding he could not, pleading 'Don't touch me,' and crying when all he could register now was the hurt. But then Legolas could see Aragorn as when he first saw him, when he called out to his friend, relieved once the elf was near, knowing the nightmare could parhaps have an end. He was so young still... but like a tormented child he was breaking to such an unknown, unexpected foe. Legolas knew that Aragorn's trust in him and love for life far surpassed the pain his tormentors inflicted, but as he knew the young ranger was grateful it was the elf that was helping him and no one else, another part of him cursed his own horrible weakness of body and would have given anything to have his friend not know. It was like two sides battling each other, the man in the middle not knowing which way to run. He wanted to be stronger than this, stronger than his fear and the pain, but at that moment he knew he could not. Just couldn't. He was far beyond his breaking point.

Aragorn hardly moved at the question, but instead of trying to back away again, he looked at the elf with eyes red with tears, face swollen with bruises, one side of his face obscured by hair caked with dust and blood... and only nodded, shame disgracing his once proud head. _Why? _Legolas could almost hear him ask. _Why this?_

"Such... a... coward..." he whispered, aching from more than physical torment.

Not two seconds later Legolas was carefully lifting the man from his corner, unable to take it anymore. The guards had left him unchained, trusting with no doubt that the human would not move alone and for that unintended mercy Legolas was glad. With one arm around his back and the other under his knees, Legolas braced Aragorn against himself as he backed up a few paces, scooting away from the spot Aragorn had claimed as his own. More than anything else, he wanted to take his friend away from that blood-stained corner that spoke of only soul-wrenched suffering and memory. Once Legolas could feel the wood of the wall pushing against his back, he settled down and placed Aragorn carefully in his lap, gently embracing the man at the same time. Immediately as Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn's thin, starved frame he began to cry softly, feeling pain so sharp he wasn't sure at first what to say.

It was all so familiar to a veteran of much pain... the wounds healed but some scars remained, dark and deep and ugly.

Aragorn's body was again desperately trying to reject the gentle compassion, his muscles jerking weakly in the prince's soft but firm grip. He tried to still his body, but the mental abuse was not one to wear away so quickly and his back was beginning to spasm again, his tailbone bruised to the core. Aragorn could not help the violent shuddering that tormented his mind and fed his fear. Tears fell down his face in frustration. Only his heart ached to be comforted so.

Then all at once Legolas' voice broke through the hard box Aragorn had unconsciously built around himself, the protection that now threatened the man's very state of mind.

"Aragorn... Estel, do not fear. It's me, you know who I am. You know I would never hurt you. You know I only want to help you. Oh brother of my heart, you know how much you mean to me. I will not hurt you. Can you hear me Estel? I will never hurt you!"

Legolas began to rock him back and forth gently, soothing the man quietly with his voice that no longer spoke real words. Unconsciously Aragorn did begin to relax, shoving away the voices and leaning hard on his side into Legolas' strong, warm, comforting embrace, his need for comfort far sharper than the steel trap jaws of his own mind. For several long minutes they sat there, reunited at last and neither able to let go.

000000000000

"You... saved me... Legolas," Aragorn's quiet voice suddenly echoed through the room that had been silent for the past several minutes. Legolas had just completed all the care he could give, offering whatever comfort he could to any injury with almost nothing on hand. Legolas could hear faint thundering from outside, and knew the rain he had felt upon entering this place had finally unleashed in full fury during the early hours of the evening, now soaking through to the ground they knelt on. The mud had helped greatly in stopping the remaining blood flow, the only temporary cure Legolas could come up with until they were blessed with more.

Aragorn couldn't sit up on his own. His back ached so much that the slightest move sent waves of pain down through his legs, and his fractured ribs made it so difficult for him to breathe. Only Legolas could move him around without hurting him. Though he hated the fact that he couldn't do anything by himself, despite it all Aragorn was grateful that he was with his best friend, for he already feared he wouldn't have survived the night.

He was not intended to.

Legolas didn't respond to the statement, but instead lifted Aragorn part-way off the ground and settled the ranger's head and upper body onto his lap, needing the contact as badly as his friend did – not for comfort as Aragorn did, but for reassurance that the man lived still. He was far from stable.

"Rest now if you can. I'll watch over you."

Aragorn shuddered but didn't back away. Feverish, injury-induced heat now radiated off his body though he still shivered from the cold. He had lost more than a safe amount of blood and his body was trying hard to make up for the damage. But to sleep, really sleep, that was a luxury he had not really had since reaching this horrid place. The only time he had fallen to unconsciousness since Gowen had left was scarce and the memory of why dark. Legs useless, Aragorn burrowed as close to his friend as he possibly could, now comforted by the warmth and proximity of the other.

"Legolas..." he murmured wearily, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.

The elf leaned over his friend, resting his forehead against Aragorn's temple and quietly shushing the man, letting him know he wasn't alone.

"I'm still here my friend. I'm right here." All Legolas could do was wait now, and pray the guards' interest would not be on them for several hours. With his hand resting atop the human's, all Aragorn could do was sleep.

§§§

"Look."

"Where?"

"Right there. Beyond the glade. Can you not see them?"

"Aye, I see them now. That is him for sure." The elf paused a moment. "I count five. Do you see more?"

Elladan, who had the best sight of the twins, shook his head as he peered through the falling rain. "I see no more. Five is all that search for us now."

"Elladan?"

The older twin absently rubbed his injured arm and shoulder. "Yes?"

"I think they have spotted us as well." Elrohir was right; the riders they watched had altered their original course slightly, heading now toward where the twins stood partly hidden.

Elladan and Elrohir had not been long delayed by the dark rider Ralorn had sent to hunt them, in reality only a few hours. The bite mark dealt to Elladan's arm and shoulder was deep and it took a while for Elrohir to bring the bleeding under control. It was the only physical difference between them – Elladan's sleeve had been cut, his arm guard removed, and thick bandages now protected the wounds.

Their delay however, had cost them catching up with Legolas, who was a fast and sure rider. The twins had stopped little, tracking the prince's trail and slowly finding themselves farther and farther away from the realm they knew as home. They had remained close though, never more than a day behind the prince and while Legolas knew not of their state, they knew of his.

Elladan dismounted slowly and stood next to his horse, stroking the animal's powerful neck while deep in thought. "Elrohir, we should send the horses back. It's Ralorn for sure. We don't need them with us any longer."

Elrohir nodded, understanding and agreeing. "Let us be swift. They approach us with no small speed."

They removed light provisions from their supplies, enough to ensure they would not have to worry about themselves or anyone they undoubtedly would find without. Thanking the animals again for their faithful service, Elladan and Elrohir turned them around and bid them go home. The two horses obediently did as instructed, trotting lightly over the terrain back towards Rivendell.

Elrohir touched his brother on his uninjured shoulder. His grey eyes were fierce. "They come."

"Then let us meet them." Elladan led the way out of the cluster of trees they had taken their cover under, his hand lighting on an arrow, taking in the touch of the fletching before drawing it out of his quiver. He stepped out into the open and took his stance, ready and waiting with the bow at his side.

Elrohir drew his sword. The weapon stood to his hip and curved at the tip, the design strong and deadly sharp. A foot-long knife remained at his side if the need should call for it, but for now the younger twin held his sword with both hands wrapped around it in a ready position.

Ralorn rode fast, the horses of him and his men pounding hard into the ground. Their breath was heavy in the air, a mist mixing in the growing intensity of the storm. It had been well over an hour since they had left the cave, and they had been riding hard since. Ralorn had not lead by knowledge of a destination but by some growing instinct within him that guided him here, right to his long sought-after targets.

Ralorn's eyes were glinting as they locked with his oppressors' gaze. His black horse suddenly made a quick stop on the muddy ground, neighing sharply as Ralorn pulled him to a halt about twenty-five feet from the twins while his guard followed suit, his gaze up in arms. Anger rolled away from him in waves.

The twin's gazes where no less intense. Elladan began to raise his bow in warning, bringing the feathers to his mouth but did not sight in the arrow just yet, letting the other elf know he would not take any threats lightly. Elrohir tensed next to him, watching patiently for the moment and making no move as of yet.

Ralorn's gaze passed from one elf to the other, allowing the years of the past to melt away and reveal them as they truly were. They had changed much. He could see wisdom and strength were there was once innocence and uncertainty, for the two elves had grown into warriors since last they had crossed paths.

Elladan spoke first, never letting his hold on the bow drop. "Ralorn, we are here to liberate the release of the one you have taken from us."

"And I am here to complete the last stage of your capture." Ralorn's voice was short and cold. "When we discovered Prince Legolas out by himself I almost assumed you had not come at all. That would have been detrimental indeed to the little human you have the gall to call brother."

Elladan and Elrohir were both seething at this point. "Ralorn," Elladan said hotly, "If you have tormented him-"

"You'll claim blood rights on me too? I've heard that one already today, don't bore me again. Your Mirkwood friend already warned me of it, I know the risks. I thank you for your concern, but I think you should worry more important matters for now."

Ralorn brought one hand up and with two fingers gestured his men forward. "Take them."

Elrohir stood in front of Elladan defensively. He was not going anywhere without a fight, neither of them were. Elladan, whether he admitted it or not was still pained by the wolf bite, though he hid it well. The younger twin took a defensive stance in front of his brother, holding his proffered weapon out in a ready position.

"We will not be taken captive until you have released those you have captured as liability against us. We will not be subject to your vicious abuse until we are all you have." Elrohir's voice was also cold, his eyes sparkling dangerously. Around him, rain fell relentlessly, spiraling down from the sky in thick waves. Thunder rumbled darkly in the distance.

"That is not possible. If you want them freed you must come under my control or they will both die. You want to exchange your lives for theirs, submit here and now."

It was too much of a trap. If they submitted, Ralorn could easily refuse to release anyone and keep them all to a devastating fate. Elrohir did not lower his gaze, nor his sword. Never on such terms would he willingly give in. It was folly.

Elladan tried to step forward and gain a position by his twin, but Elrohir would have none of it. "Stay back, Elladan," he whispered, though his tone was firm. It was rare when Elrohir took control of a situation such as this in the manner he was, but that was exactly what he was doing now. "Watch my back."

Elladan knew he would never win against the piercing gaze Elrohir graced him with for a moment. He stepped back, and prepared to do as instructed, raising his bow again and preparing to sight in on the arrow.

"So you won't come willingly?" Ralorn turned around and spoke to his men, pointing at the twins. "Overtake them. I want them alive."

Lom, Mayroniel, Faroth, and Árë all dismounted, unsheathing their weapons as they hit the ground. Elrohir adjusted his footing, preparing to fight while Elladan backed up a pace, fixing his arrow on an unknown target. His injury it seemed had been forgotten.

"Ralorn!" Elladan took over, yelling above another round of thunder to catch the other elf's attention before any fighting had begun. Against such odds their outlook was bleak. Either of them could easily be injured to the point of crippling or even killed. With other lives on the line it was not a risk he was willing to take.

When the elf gave him his attention, Elladan sighted his arrow as he spoke. "Ralorn, if you allow a fight to begin I swear I will kill you for it. I don't care what happens to me because of it, but I will have your head in the end."

Faroth and Mayroniel made to move closer to Ralorn to protect him, but Elladan stopped them. "If you get any closer I will kill him right now." His voice was incensed and his gaze deadly. He meant what he said and was in no mood to play around. Both Faroth and Mayroniel stopped, faces expressionless but by actions quite angry.

Ralorn did not waver under the fire in Elladan's eyes. He didn't like the way this was going, he hated giving his tormentors any quarter of relief, but he could not do anything otherwise without jeopardizing everything he had worked for. "What do you want?"

"I want you to release my brother and my elven friend from your clutches, let us go free and move beyond your hate, but you will give me none of that; not here, not now, not yet."

"Not ever," Ralorn hissed at him, and a moment later a knife struck Elladan in his injured shoulder, throwing him backwards and knocking him to the ground at the sudden pain. The abuse he had already suffered under the tigerwolf was still healing and the sharp blade did nothing to help him. It cut through his bandages and imbedded itself deep into the muscle of his shoulder. As he fell Mayroniel and Faroth rushed forward, throwing his bow out of his hands and pinned him to the ground firmly. Elladan let loose a surprised grunt of pain as his newly torn shoulder was pushed into the ground. He struggled against his capturers, but Faroth and Mayroniel had been too fast and he was overcome.

"Elladan!" Elrohir watched in horror as in the blink of an eye Faroth had his knife out of its sheath and in the air. Elladan had been too distracted at the moment to notice... or so he thought. What he didn't know was that Faroth specialized in this type of betrayal – he had also been the one who had broken into Rivendell that night to steal a most precious quarry. Faroth more than any of the elves knew the limits to speed and stealth, talents honed many times over in the long years of his life and honored greatly by Ralorn.

Ralorn, at the moment, was smiling. Faroth never let him down. Of the Guard Faroth and Mayroniel were his most trusted; the ones who had never failed him and together were a force to be reckoned with. The two elves struggled with their prisoner, but soon Elladan ceased to move while his body remained tense, knowing for the moment that he had been defeated.

Elrohir let his gaze rise from his twin to Ralorn, and then to Lom, who stood in front of him and blocking his view of the others. Lom was young but he was strong, holding his sword in both hands comfortably, prepared to strike. Many thoughts were going through Elrohir's head. He needed to get through Lom in order to reach anyone else, because it was clear that Lom was blocking him. Árë had returned to Ralorn's side, protecting the elf should Elrohir try to pull a stunt similar to Faroth's just moments before.

Elrohir's face suddenly went impassive, blank but chilling to look upon. Lom watched him carefully, trying to figure out what the elf twin was thinking. It was as though Elrohir had shut himself off from the others, his focus entirely on the one who stood in his way. Until this fight was over and one of them lay defeated or dying, it was clear they would see nothing else but the fire in each other's eyes. Elrohir let his left foot slide back behind his right, his sword following the motion until it found a place pointing down behind the twin, the elf's hands right near his hip in a steady, strong grip about the handle. Lom mimicked him, taking a similar stance not three feet away from the other, though he brought his sword up to his shoulder near his neck, holding it parallel to the ground in both hands. For a moment they froze, taking in the intensity of each other's gaze while trying to infuse some fear with their own. Then, as if triggered at the same time Elrohir and Lom leapt forward and their swords clashed; Elrohir bringing his up and Lom forcing his down in first contact and the fight was on.

Elladan felt as though he were watching it in slow motion. Elrohir was rising in the defense and held his own strongly, though Lom was proving to be a formidable swordsman and rose with his enemy. Neither wanting to kill his foe, they both attempted to either disarm or injure his opponent, their swords clashing again and again. Elladan felt as though his breath was eluding him entirely as he watched Elrohir dodge, parry, and strike at Lom, who made one furious attack after another. Several minutes of this passed by, two elves locked in a battle, each with very different desires.

No one made to stop them; all seemed transfixed at the sight of the battle. Árë stood close by Ralorn's side and about ten feet away Mayroniel and Faroth had Elladan on the ground. Elrohir and Lom were fighting right near Elladan's legs in an area of about fifteen square feet, hardly paying them any mind.

Lom, egged on by ego and desperation – the desire to prove himself to his master, pressed Elrohir to the limit, barely giving him any time to recover from a strike before coming in with another. The elf twin parried blow after blow. After several minutes Elrohir began to show signs of wear, his breath coming in quickly. Lom noticed the change and began to press his advantage, picking up his speed and forcing Elrohir to keep up with him. Elrohir's strained movements began to bolster his confidence.

Elrohir grit his teeth, obviously doing the best he could but as of yet he had not found the opening he was looking for. He knew Elladan was probably watching him in horror and wished he could console the other, but that would take concentration he could not spare at the moment. He could only pray that the opening he was looking for would come soon. He squinted as he parried Lom's sword, as if wincing from the force of the blades crashing together and then falling apart.

Then, at that instant, something completely unexpected happened that made Elladan gasp in surprise. Elrohir swung his sword again, but not at Lom. It was off to the side; Elrohir wasn't even looking at Lom when he drove his sword forward. This so perplexed his opponent that Lom actually smiled, convinced for a split second that his plan to weary the other had worked. Elrohir was now swinging so wildly. It made him hesitate – for just an instant – as he retracted his sword for what he believed to be his final strike, aiming to knock Elrohir's sword out of his hands.

This was exactly what Elrohir had been counting on – the overconfidence, the moment of hesitation. He used his own momentum to pull himself into a roll. As Elladan looked on in shock, Elrohir stuck his sword into the soft earth and used it to propel his legs upward, smashing it into Lom's face, snapping the other elf's chin back. Lom was on the ground an instant later, shaking his head and trying to figure out what had happened.

Elrohir stood and pulled his sword from the ground, all weariness gone. He had never been truly tired in any way. It had all been a ruse to earn that precious second of hesitation. Elrohir looked over at Elladan while Lom struggled to regain his feet, giving his twin a small smile of reassurance that Elladan returned.

Elladan's smile however, quickly opened in terror. "Look out!" he cried, and earned himself a none-too-gentle blow to the head. Lom had gained his feet and his sword, using Elrohir's moment of distraction against him just as Elrohir had, aiming his shining blade right toward Elrohir's abdomen, seeming to forget Ralorn's strict request to take both the twins alive.

Elrohir turned his eyes.

When he realized what was happening, he had no time to parry, no time to dodge. There was only one counter move. Elrohir rose his own blade and stabbed it in the direction of the other elf's neck, rolling his body as he did so and allowing Lom's sword to catch a piece of his armor. The light chainmail he wore and the leather shirt underneath ripped open, but the action had saved him from getting anything worse than a nasty cut.

Elrohir's blade, however, had found a direct hit, unhindered as the sword cut into Lom's unprotected neck. Blood spurted. Lom fell forward, a look of surprise and shock in his eyes were rage had once been. His body crumpled to the ground, staining the slippery mud red. His body quivered, but not for long. Lom was dead.

Elladan's heart fell back to rest within the cavity of his chest. The fight was over, Elrohir had won. But there was no look of relief or excitement in his twin's eyes. Instead, he looked devastated. He dropped to his knees in the mud beside the fallen body, regret and despair filling his face. He had not wanted to kill the other, he had never meant to, but that was how it had ended. Lightning heightened his features and pale face as the rain continued to fall, flickering over him in a haunted way.

Elladan looked over at Ralorn. The elf looked livid. It had not been Elrohir's fault in any way, he had been acting on self-defense at that moment and Lom had been pursuing a matter of pride, not duty. Yet none of that changed the fact that Lom had been killed, bringing the total to two dead guards in the past week, more than he had seen in the past three hundred years.

"Árë, take him," Ralorn said, his voice low. Elrohir seemed to be in a state of slight shock; now would be the best time to catch the elf off guard. Árë stepped forward behind the elf twin and pulled Elrohir's arms behind his back quickly. At first Elrohir did little to respond to the treatment, it was not until Árë had brought him to his feet that he began to notice that he too had been taken prisoner.

The twins were bound, their weapons removed, and put together on the back of a horse. Elrohir was trembling as they were bound in place; Elladan could feel it clearly as his twin sat in front of him. Ralorn had not spoken to them yet, apparently too angry with them and desiring only to get moving out of the ghastly weather.

"Shh, it's all right El, it's all right..." Elladan whispered gentle encouragement to his brother as Faroth and Árë began to drag Lom's body to a small cliff about thirty feet away from where the fight had taken place, throwing the corpse over the edge while Ralorn and Mayroniel looked on with a mixture of remorse and pity in their eyes.

"I didn't mean to... I didn't want to kill him..." Elrohir did not cease to tremble, silent tears falling down his face easily mistaken as the rain. The more sensitive one of the two twins, Elrohir felt deeply for what had been done. Never once had he had the desire to kill, even one under Ralorn's thumb. The old reminder that 'if it hadn't of been him, it would have been you' didn't help much. It should not have happened that way... but what else could he have done?

"I know, I know you didn't mean to. It was an accident El; it wasn't your fault..." Elladan allowed Elrohir to lean back against him a little more, whispering gently into his ear. Knowing Elrohir needed comfort in this situation more than anything else; Elladan gave all that he could to keep Elrohir with him. "It was him, I watched the fight. He was trying to take advantage of you being distracted and you did exactly what you were supposed to do. You did what anyone would have done. It was not your fault. It was not your fault..."

"El... you are bleeding..." Elrohir noticed Elladan's arm when he looked back. When Elladan had been forced onto the back of the horse, Faroth had wasted no time in ripping the knife out of his shoulder. The damage was bad, but not bad enough to alarm Elladan very much. It hurt, but it was Elrohir who concerned him more.

"I'll be fine, do not fear." Elladan turned Elrohir's attention away from himself, knowing it would do neither of them any good if they worried about such things now. There was nothing they could do.

The rain was coming down so hard that all the elves had decided to dismount, leading their horses back to the cave rather than riding them. Only Elladan and Elrohir sat on a horse, but they were surrounded on all sides by the others and their horse lead by Árë. There was no chance of escape now, and even if they could, any sign of Legolas' trail would have been washed away by now. The ground was sickeningly slick and dangerous; the going was much slower than usual.

Elladan continued to whisper directly into Elrohir's ear, so softly that not even the elves around them could detect what he said.

"It's going to be all right, Elrohir. Estel's out there, he needs us. I need you to help me, and we'll be able to get him and Legolas out. That's all that matters now. We're going to save them. It's going to be all right, we're going to Estel..."

§§§

Aragorn slept badly. It did not matter how physically worn and emotionally beaten he was, it could not drag him down to a deep, healing sleep. Every time his subconscious reached the limit between light and deep slumber, something would bring him back to the surface with a jolt. In which case, since he now refused to tread the path of no return, his body would jerk as he awoke yet again, ever hunted by some fear.

Legolas could do little more than be a comfort and a voice in the darkness. He continued to hold Aragorn's upper body in his lap and his arms wrapped around his friend to starve off both chill and fear. Aragorn, fully confident now that Legolas was real and no illusion, took great comfort in being held no matter how childish it made him feel. After all he had been through, he needed it.

Hours ticked by as Aragorn fitfully slept in a world that brought him little relief, and Legolas either talking or singing softly to the ranger or himself. The cave was oddly silent. It sounded as though few if any beings other than themselves were now hidden in this place beneath the earth. Legolas didn't know what to make of the little he had discovered from Ralorn. Parhaps he had come to assume that if Legolas had made it, the twins were not far behind... But that was not the case at all. The prince still knew nothing of what had transpired since that day they were attacked by the tigerwolves and the dark rider. He didn't know where the twins were... or if the twins were even alive.

"We may have outdone ourselves this time, Estel," Legolas whispered at some point, still feeling the feverish heat coming from the one he held. For the first time he didn't know what to do, had no answer to a question for the future. If the twins were truly gone, there would be no hope of a rescue. By the time anyone else would find this place – indeed, if they ever did – they would already be dead.

Aragorn was in no condition to travel. Legolas' options were sadly limited when it came to thoughts of escape since he was determined to keep Estel with him. He was lost for a time in darkening thoughts and uncertainty. Outside he could clearly hear the pounding of the rain. The sky was unleashing great fury in a full downpour. He could hear the lightning crash and thunder rumble in the distance. It was going to be a most dreary night whether they were inside the cave or not.

Even the sky was angry this night.

Aragorn woke slowly this time, his mind still threaded with sleep. It had been over three hours since Legolas had joined him, three hours since he had seen any of the guards. He lifted his head slightly as a touch of delirium caught him, but Legolas held him steadily until the nausea passed.

"How are you feeling?" Legolas asked him gently when he sensed Aragorn's clearness of mind, though still foggy from hurt.

Aragorn shut his eyes and breathed in softly. "Fantastic."

Legolas smiled. Aragorn had barely begun to heal, his condition had hardly changed, but his heart was a bit lighter and that was what mattered. Aragorn had discovered his will to survive again and that in and of itself was the best healer right now.

"Yes, I suppose that under the current circumstances I should expect no less." Legolas stated, trying to draw some mirth on the fact that Aragorn always made light of his own injuries. He was desperate to forget about their growing situation for a moment.

Aragorn made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a cough that he intended to be a chuckle and Legolas couldn't help but add, "And in the future I shall try to remember that those guttural sounds you pass off as verbal responses are not from the wild boars-"

"Ah Legolas," Aragorn cut the elf off. "Of all the things to come out of your mouth at a time like this..."

"Worry not my friend. I am only taking pleasure in reminding you of your more charming personality traits when ill..."

Aragorn recognized Legolas' attempts to cheer him somewhat and humored the elf with a real chuckle, something the elf felt more than heard. Legolas accepted it as the thanks that it was.

As soon as Aragorn had his breath back, he added with a glimmer of pleasure entirely his own. "This sounds very much like someone else I know-"

"Hey!"

"Don't you deny it either!"

Legolas smiled and Aragorn would have returned it had not the notion been so painful. He simply let the elf hold him and jest with him, trying to lift some of the darkness that had settled so deeply in the cave. As the elf's mirth subsided and the darkness began to fill the place where light mirth had been, Aragorn did not object when Legolas leaned his head against his friend's and began to hum a simple elvish tune, fighting the waves of despair as long as he could for the both of them. He had to. He could not lose hope; it would destroy them both.

A short while later both prisoners heard noise within the cave as beings entered its depths again. Wherever the guards had been, they had now most assuredly returned. The elf and man confined would not be ignored much longer.

"Legolas," Aragorn said wearily, as though it pained him emotionally to speak what he knew he must. "You must return to your wall and me to mine. The guards will come soon. They cannot find anything different from before."

He heard the elf sigh and knew that Legolas had been dreading this. "I wish there was another way..." Legolas murmured, resisting leaving Aragorn alone like this. The physical contact between the two of them had kept both of them stable, for not once had Legolas thought of the crushing, suffocating weight of the earth around him; neither had Aragorn given into despair as he otherwise probably would have.

"Please Legolas. I can't allow them to hurt you. I – I need you to be strong for me. Please, they may come soon."

"All right Estel," Legolas sighed heavily. "I will do as you ask."

Legolas with more gentleness many thought the elves possessed laid Aragorn on his side close to his old corner, barely jouncing the man. Aragorn's body could not be handled too roughly as of yet, it would do him no good and more than a little damage. Once Aragorn was as comfortable as he could get, Legolas hesitated and looked at the man squarely in the eyes.

"Don't let go Estel," he warned, though there was fear and pain in the elf's eyes. After so much, he could not see the man die here; he couldn't, refused to even think of it. Not after all that had been done. "I'll be with you. You can't leave me yet. Promise me you'll try?"

Aragorn could only nod his head beyond speaking. "I promise I won't despair as long as I am able."

Once the vow had been made Legolas turned and walked the few steps to where his broken locks lay waiting. All Legolas did was reinsert the chain to the connecting hook and push the lock and broken wood back into place. It wouldn't have held a five-year-old, but it served its purpose in making Legolas appear secure.

Once he was settled, Legolas sat and faced his friend. "Estel?"

Aragorn moaned softly as a short spasm of pain rippled through him. With Legolas gone from him, the light and warmth had been taken as well. The man was once again fully aware of his injuries, the cold, and just how much they both hurt.

Legolas' voice raised a notch in concern. "Estel?"

"I'll be fine," Aragorn forced himself to speak clearly – at least he still could speak. "It just hurts a little-"

"Be still, don't dwell on it. Think about something else now." Legolas wished he could do something more than he was.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Anything. Like something about home."

Silence resumed as Aragorn struggled to obey. Legolas listened to the rain pound harder against the mountain. It was surely coming down hard. Even the earth around them was softening almost inperceptively, slowly staining the captives dark with traces of mud. Legolas noticed how it gave easily underneath both his touch and his friend's.

The prince was torn out of his musings when Aragorn called to him suddenly. "Legolas!"

"What? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Oh, why didn't I think of this before?" Aragorn breathed in frustration. "It may be our only chance. I'm such a human!--"

"Be quiet about being human! What is this you speak of Estel?" Legolas felt a leap of hope shoot through his heart.

"I don't know Legolas, it could be dangerous but I think I know a way that we could-"

Aragorn was cut off as the door opened suddenly and loudly, firelight filling the interior of the dark room and making them both jump in surprise. Two guards entered, followed shortly by a third, who proceeded to unlock both prisoners in haste.

The locks were undone in the middle of the chain and Legolas' outburst with his own fetters went unnoticed. He was escorted roughly by one guard, Faroth, since he could walk, and Aragorn was carried by the other two. Neither of them were gentle and Aragorn had to keep himself from screaming. Ai Valar, how it hurt to move so! He let loose a breathless groan of pain as his body was jounced far too soon.

Legolas twisted in his bonds still about his wrists and the foot of chain between them. The guards led them swiftly, deeper into the tunnels. He was growing quite angry at this situation and how his friend was being treated so, far lower than what he deserved. If they ever made it back to the room, Legolas was determined to find out what Aragorn had intended to say.

'_Escape,'_ he pleaded in his heart as his guard shoved him forward toward a room filled with torchlight and ever moving shadows of beings within. _'Let it have been escape.'_

000000000000

The weather was turning from bad to worse. Elladan had given up counting how many times he felt the horse below him and Elrohir slip and stumble over the deadly ground. For the last hour he had dedicated all his energy of heart to keep Elrohir from slipping away, and eventually the younger twin did calm and his body stilled, comforted by his brother's presence and his words.

With the tricky water-logged earth slowing them down it took the group nearly two hours to get back to the cave. Elladan had fallen silent about twenty minutes before they reached the destination, finally feeling some peace of mind in regards to Elrohir's state. They would have to talk about it again, but that would be another time, another day.

When they did reach the entrance Elrohir and Elladan gave a very similar reaction to its entrance as Aragorn and Legolas had. It was a hopeless sight, the blackness of the interior unreflected by the lightning that crashed and boomed over them. When they were finally just beyond it, the twins were untied and again surrounded by all the elves save Ralorn, who lead the way into cave. The horses brought up the rear, thankful at the very least for the relief from the wind and the cold.

The twins were man-handled deeper into the cave, taking the main passageway down until they had passed by the first two offshoots and then turned directly left into a small room with no door. The interior however, was filled with lit torches, the room lit brightly. It was there that they were forced to the ground and no longer constantly prodded along. They did notice however, that another elf – Silore, they soon found out - who had not gone on the journey with them had joined the group, bringing the total Guard up to five beings now. Outnumbered and trapped, the twins could only wait to see what would happen.

Ralorn had to bask in the moment. It was done. He had finally done it. Far away from home, from help, deep in the mountains and sheltered in the cave where he had grown up... he had his quarry. He had the opportunity to do all that he had desired to do for so long. He turned to the twins, studying them for a moment, considering.

"Faroth," he said suddenly, not breaking his gaze from the forms of his two new captives. "Take Árë and Silore and go get the other two prisoners. I believe it is time to reunite them."

Faroth nodded, and with Árë and Silore in tow left the room quickly, turning farther down the cave to a deeper section of the underground tunnels.

'_Estel,' _the twins desperately thought together as the guards left. Elrohir kept his eyes on the door, whereas Elladan turned to Ralorn with a firm gaze most unpleasant. It was as if together they could watch both at the same time.

"What have you done to him?" Elladan asked carefully to Ralorn, not knowing if he wanted an answer but deep inside needing it. Ralorn knew what he was talking about, the responding gaze confirmed it. The look in his eyes however, put both the twins on edge. Whatever had happened did not look good.

"You have certainly chosen a rather bull-headed, arrogant man to join your family," Ralorn stated a bit sarcastically, his eyes snapping at the thought but his voice remained level. "I've never had more trouble with a human. He cut two fingers from Mayroniel's hand, helped a valuable prisoner of mine escape and then tried to escape himself. In any realm this would garner punishment and imprisonment, but since he was already a prisoner we had to take it to the next level..."

They all could suddenly hear sounds in the pathway; Faroth and the others were returning and at a much slower speed, weighed down by something.

"... but I'll let you figure out what we decided to do instead," Ralorn muttered at them darkly, turning away and allowing the twins to concentrate on what was being brought for them. As figures appeared in the entrance, both the twins felt their breath snag in their throats.

The guards entered slowly, contrasting sharply to the speed with which they had left. Árë and Silore entered first and they now held another – a forlorn, broken body that gave no immediate sign of life. Blood and soaked dirt matted the being's dark hair and covered sweaty skin, a sign of the deep pain he had endured and an unspoken curse that he may not survive without serious help.

The weary body let go of an aching moan, and the head rolled toward the locked gaze of the twins. Handled too roughly, his senses were on fire and Aragorn quickly discovered once again he barely held the power to speak. His eyes locked to the forms of his brothers, his heart choking at the sight that he wanted, and feared, the most. They had come, Ralorn had taunted him only, they had truly come... but now they were all subject to the twisted elf's mercy. The vision of his brothers wavered out of his grasp however, disappearing and no longer could he recognize them as numbing pain consumed his world.

Elladan's heart stopped. Elrohir couldn't breathe. They stared at the familiar face now twisted with pain and ceased all movement, their eyes never wavering from the unseeing ones of their little brother.

"Estel," Elladan finally managed to whisper, not in anger, or fear; pain, or regret just soft, warm, almost pleading as his heart ripped in half at the sight of his little brother's pain. It was a vain wish for what he saw not to be true.

Elrohir could do nothing, struck dumb for a moment. He could only sit and stare into the depths of the cloudy blue eyes and read the suffering they contained, unashamed tears falling down his fair face. He glanced at Elladan but his twin could not look him in the eye. Elladan had said everything would be all right, but now it seemed that everything wanted to prove him wrong. Heartache and shame tore his heart into shreds.

The twins hardly noticed when Legolas entered the room, guided by Faroth alone. The prince's gaze immediately fell to his friends, and a momentary flash of relief filled him. They were all right, he needn't wonder about their fate any longer. Understanding their reaction he wished to all ends that they would never have had to lay eyes on such a hideous sight, and it burned the prince as the hatred readily displayed now, out of the hands of Ralorn. The protectiveness the two strong-willed warriors had for their brother ran deep, deep and unbreakable. Yet it was breaking them now.

"Put him down," the commanding voice called from the back wall, expected and unwanted. The two guards did not set Aragorn down softly or roughly, but much like a mother would set down her child who was being willfully disobedient. But despite that, it was harder than what Aragorn could handle as of yet.

Trapped in the semi-wakefulness of delirium, the ranger couldn't help but call out for the last person he had spoken to and registered. "Legolas," he whispered through cracked lips as he shut his eyes, unable to hold in the pain of being handled far too roughly so soon. How he ached... "Legolas, help me... please..."

The plea nearly rent the elf's heart in two. Emotions closer to the surface than what he would have liked, Legolas made to move and aide his friend. His guard jerked him back.

"Don't you move," Faroth hissed, clearly displeased and ready to act swiftly if needed. Legolas' eyes burned into the elf, but held his ground.

Elladan found his voice, unable to tear his gaze away from his little brother. "Ralorn, let him go!"

"Be silent!" Ralorn said sharply. "You cannot save him now. No one can."

"No Ralorn, release him! Release him now or you will never have me alive!"

Ralorn hesitated at the bold statement; Elrohir swerved around to stare at his twin. For a moment they locked their gaze and in a breath swift understanding passed through them. Elrohir hardened his gaze to the firmness of Elladan's. They would both bind themselves to the same fate if it meant Aragorn could go free. Estel had so much ahead of him, a future that could change more lives than they could. But most importantly, he was their brother; he was bound to them by distant blood. The twins would feel like traitors of they did not do something. Legolas was of no matter to Ralorn, he would probably be set free. But as long as Aragorn got out of this black hole alive, both the twins would give their lives in utter surrender. Both Estel and Legolas were going to be all right or none of them would be. Such was the loyalty of the twin sons of Elrond.

"I swear it Ralorn. Release him or you will never have the chance to take out your revenge. I don't care how I do it, but I can assure you I will."

"As will I Ralorn," Elrohir's strong voice echoed the vow of Elladan. "If death is what you wish of us, let them both go and you shall have it. We will not tolerate anyone to be hurt so at our expense. This is between you and us. Do not torment the innocent; those who have played no part in this."

Ralorn's eyes were darting madly, just as they always did when he was deep in thought. But when a moment passed and his eyes grew alight with a dark malice, the three coherent captives felt their hearts freeze.

"Fine." Ralorn said, walking forward until he stood next to one of his guards – Silore. Turning his attention to the young elf, he spoke.

"Go get the farmer's brew ready." Silore smiled a trifle, and quickly disappeared to do as instructed. As to what, none of the captives were sure, and they feared it already.

Ralorn turned to the guards that had just brought Legolas and Aragorn in. now that Aragorn had served his purpose, Ralorn had no desire to keep the man or the prince around. "Take them back. Do not remove them until I command it."

"No Ralorn!" Elladan's voice deepened almost lethally as the three guards began to take their prisoners away. "Let them go! I do not make idle promises or threats and I meant what I said, they will profit you nothing if we are dead!"

The tall, dark elf turned to look at Elladan, paused for a moment, and laughed. Actually laughed, as though it was all so funny, that the twins were acting and speaking in a manner exactly as to what he intended.

"Oh, I certainly hope so," he said, grinning as Elladan froze, meeting his amused gaze with a surprised one. "In fact, I'm going to help you fulfill that promise since you desire it so much."

Turning again, he ordered his remaining guards. Now was the time. "Take them. It's time we finished this – we'll grant their wish."


	12. Disaster And Hope

Chapter 11

**Disaster and Hope**

"Aragorn, what?" Legolas turned to the man as soon as the sounds of the guards had faded away, returning to the rest of the Guard and to Elladan and Elrohir. The prince greatly feared what fate they would come to, especially after what he had seen Ralorn and his men do to an innocent man. Something had to be done, something now! Legolas was no longer willing to sit and wait. "You know how we can what?"

"Nothing," the ranger murmured softly, trying to absorb the pain in his body and push it away. It was hard to do. He was so weary, so worn... "It was nothing. I thought of a possible way to escape-"

"I knew it!"

Aragorn just shook his head. "I should not have said anything."

"Don't give me that Estel," Legolas was stern. "I don't care how crazy it sounds. Tell me."

The man sighed. He was in no condition nor mood to butt heads at the moment. "Can you hear the rain outside?"

"Of course. It has been thundering for hours. What of it?" Suddenly as he said it Legolas caught on to a flicker of an idea as something so completely obvious entered his thoughts. Aragorn only confirmed them.

"It has turned the earth around us soft. I thought that if we could remove some of the planks from the wall we may be able to dig our way out of here. We aren't far from the surface," He sighed. "... but I do not think we will make it out in time."

"Aragorn, we must try something. Elladan and Elrohir are in trouble, and we aren't much better off. I think we can do that," Legolas roamed the walls, searching for an area that seemed closest to the surface. He spent several minutes searching, listening.

"Here." He said finally, his hand placed up against the wall opposite of the door. "Right here's our best bet."

"Legolas, please," Aragorn whispered. He was in no condition to move, he couldn't help the prince; and after being used against his brothers in such a way he had again lost all his outward resistance his desire to keep trying. "I can't help you, I can't let you do this alone-"

"Be still my friend. Don't worry about it. We'll be fine." Legolas began to dig into the ground, the damp earth breaking away easily under his hands. The wood had been placed only about six inches below level ground, and soon the elf had uncovered the bottoms of four neighboring planks before moving to the ceiling to accomplish the same.

Ten minutes later, after much untried work on the elf's part in getting the wood off the wall and out of the earth, four planks were on the ground and what was once behind them now darkly visible. Pulling the top layer of rocks and earth away, Legolas with the help of a long sharp stone dug deeper into the wall.

"Legolas, don't-"Aragorn struggled to dissuade his friend, but the elf began to work faster at the sound of desperation in the ranger's voice. Finding no words of comfort, he ignored the pleas and pushed his fingers deeper into the flesh of the wall. As the elf persisted, Aragorn gave up.

The sharp stone in the prince's hand dug into the unprotected flesh as Legolas gripped it tightly and the damp soil stuck to him, turning him slowly into a sight very unlike an elf of his nature.

Aragorn was in turmoil as he watched the elf progress deeper. He hated how much he was relying on the strength of his friend, how deadly and dangerous this plan was if they were caught in the act. A part of him wished he had said nothing, but still he did not want to submit to the guards without a fight. But even if they did get out, what of the twins? How would they ever get back in without being caught again? What of Legolas? Was he just being dragged down by this? It tore at Aragorn's heart to think that if they survived it could be at the cost of another's life aside from his own. Not again. He couldn't allow that to happen, not after Valan. It would kill him! The man hesitated, caught between fear and desire; desperation and hope.

"Legolas," the questioning tone made the elf turn around from his work, watching the human in the darkness of the room. "Why are you helping me?"

Legolas removed his hands from the dirt and rocks of the wall and stared disbelievingly at the man. "Estel, why would I not help you?"

"Why are you risking your life to save me? You could be caught, you could be tortured as I was; you could be killed! Why am I worth your life?" the soft voice was gentle but pleading, wanting to understand what his mind had long since made him believe impossible.

Almost without thought Legolas abandoned the hole he had been digging and walked over to the man's right side. Elladan and Elrohir may be in serious danger and time was needed now if any help they could give would be of worth; but Legolas couldn't allow Aragorn to lose his spirit now, he couldn't allow the twin's sacrifice be in vain. Kneeling down to the muddy earth, Legolas bracketed Aragorn's head with his dirty hands, staring firmly into the silver eyes that were almost unable to return the unwavering gaze.

Aragorn flinched away from the elf's intense eyes, for to meet it with equal intensity would have been as easy as staring down his own reflection. He knew he was being foolish for asking such questions, but he couldn't help it. Recent events were making him question everything, even his friend's willingness to sacrifice for him when they both knew he could give nothing in return.

Legolas tilted Aragorn's head up, trying to catch the ranger's darting eyes. Patience won quickly and Aragorn let himself be lost in the deep, azure blue eyes above him.

Ai, the emotion that he could read in the undivided attention of the elf. Aragorn could not believe what he was reading in the open windows of his friend's thoughts, the very pictures of the elf's mind. The confused pain Legolas was allowing him to see was hard to stay under and quickly Aragorn had to shut his eyes and turn his head away. He pressed his cheek against Legolas' left palm, his breath hitching against his will again, and in moments a small, single tear squeezed out of one eye and fell soundlessly down his face, disappearing below his left ear.

Legolas' right hand was suddenly no longer supporting his head. A moment later, it was on the left side of his face and gently wiping away the tear streak before resting lightly on his cheek, his thumb moving ever so slightly in soothing patterns over the new stubble on his friend's jaw.

"Estel," Legolas' almost silent voice echoed through Aragorn's head. "Why would I leave you to die? Why would I let you be caught, tortured, and killed and do nothing about it? Why would I not consider my life worth yours?"

"But it's not-"

"Yes Estel," Legolas' voice broke slightly, his head falling down to rest against Aragorn's in a familiar gesture of friendship and love for the other. "Yes it is."

Legolas pressed his cheek against Aragorn's temple, relaxing against the cold skin and trying to hold back the tearing ache inside. But Aragorn ruined the teetering wall of resistance with a single sentence.

"You don't mean that," the soft, heartbroken words had the tone of one doubting that there was a better way to live. "... You can't mean that." His voice, hardly above a whisper, further destroyed Legolas' resisting spirit. No one could disarm Legolas' pride the way Aragorn could. No one.

Legolas collapsed; his will shattering and the fragile wall that had kept the tears back fell like rubble to litter the deepest part of his sorrow. "No," he whispered. With a shuddering sigh he turned his face closer to that of his hurting friend's; strained gulping signaled the finally released soft tears and Legolas let them come slowly, slipping down his nose and into Aragorn's matted hair. The man shook his head, trying to draw away. He refused to believe, he could not. He could understand his life being taken for the sake of the elf, but not the other way around. His life was worth the cost for another, not the price of another. The very thought broke his heart.

"My friend... I do too," Legolas' right arm wrapped itself around Aragorn's shoulders, stopping the man's weak attempts to pull back, holding and gently rocking the man back and forth against himself. "And I know you do as well. I am your friend, and you know what we share. It is something that cannot be torn and never broken, and it is something I do not take lightly because of how different we may be.

"Estel, you have been my friend ever since you fell out of that tree and into my life. You have been at my side, risking everything that you hold dear for me. Why must you feel you have so little worth when you give everything? Estel!" Legolas shook his head softly against his friend's. "No. No Estel, you are worth more than you know. A place of honor you have kept strong in my heart, but how I wish I had known sooner... from the start you have been more than a friend, but a dear brother, a guardian against my fear and pain. It's my turn now, my time to return what you have given me so selflessly."

The last of the elf's words switched to a plea for life, spoken in the sweet comforting words of the elvish language again spoken in love and not hate as Aragorn had been forced to endure here in the darkness of the earth. "Anírach únad, han cenin vi chen lín... Egor ú-erin le devi. Ú-erich o nin gwanno, mellon nin. Ú-erich leithio."

You want nothing more, I can see it in your eye... but I cannot let you. You cannot leave me, my friend. You cannot let go.

Aragorn broke inside, his heart tearing in two at his friend's words. Pain filled sobs he had dammed up inside from the beginning heaved from deep in his chest. How had he found such a friend? What made him worthy of such a gift? Legolas heard the words behind the broken whispers and began to soothe Aragorn again, his voice sounding like a soft healing wind that flowed through the trees after a terrible storm had torn apart the heart of a forest. With the reassurances came hope, resolved to reside in life and not linger close to death. It was not near completion, but the desire had found its place again.

The calming tone bit through Aragorn's pride and fed his need to be held, and just once he managed to whisper hoarsely, "I'm so glad it was you... gwannach o innen ului."

You never left my mind.

Wrapping his hands loosely in his friend's tunic, Aragorn let Legolas feel every heartache... every regret... every tear... anything that had ever consumed and eternally wounded his soul in those past few hellish days... and so deep was the sharing of pain that miles away, the Lord of Rivendell would awake to find his pillow wet with tears.

§§§

Elrond leapt up off his bed, a cry barely restrained behind his lips. For a moment he knelt there, unsure of what to make of the unfamiliar and horrifying images he had seen somewhere between consciousness and full awareness. Uncertain, but he still knew what they were.

The elf lord pressed his hands against his face, registering for the first time the tears that now stained his cheeks. It was all horrifying, so terribly wrong. Worse than the thoughts he had dared entertain before. Wisps of his youngest human son hung over his mind, brief flashes of the young man in terrible pain. Whether hung from the ceiling and beaten by men whose faces Elrond could never quite coax into view though he tried, or left for dead in the corner of a dark room, it was all the same. A heart had been broken so severely that he wasn't sure of the intensity of it or how long it had been that way, only that he knew if allowed to remain in such a state it would surely kill his youngest human son.

He couldn't take this. Couldn't sit here, waiting for an answer he feared would be twisted in a way he couldn't take. He couldn't suffer through another such image in that likeness of Estel. It would destroy him.

Someone entered his room, having heard his almost silent outcry and came to investigate. A young elf servant found Elrond sitting up on his bed; a stern, haunting look written in the shallow lines of his face and his eyes glittering with a scant look of hurt. He rushed forward in concern.

"My lord?" the servant whispered hesitantly, unsure of what to do.

Elrond didn't react right away, rather finding himself unable to move for a moment. After a moment of gaining control he did turn his head and lock his gaze with the other being.

"Yes?" despite the slight flecks of shock still unconcealed in his eyes, his voice was strong.

"My lord, are you all right?" the elf asked cautiously, not used to seeing his lord act in such a way.

Elrond could find no reassuring answer to that simple question, stuck as he was in his own thoughts. "I do not know. Please, leave me."

"As you wish my lord," the young elf answered, though he was still concerned he would honor Elrond's wishes. "If you have need, do not hesitate to call."

"Thank you," Elrond nodded and the elf left, shutting the door behind him.

Pushing off the bed and standing on his feet, Elrond walked slowly out to the door that led to his balcony. The night was cool but the wind was strong, the trees' branches flowing through invisible hands and the whispering whistle filled the darkness of the sky. Elrond walked over the veranda and leaned up against the balustrade, his eyes roving over this beautiful land but his mind a million miles away.

'Oh my sons,' he cried out softly in his heart. 'Are you all right? Are you safe? ... How long will it be before I know the truth?'

He could feel it from a distance, carried in the voices of the wind. There was pain... and there was dread.

§§§

The room was for the most part empty, holding within its bare earth walls only two stone basins. Each reached about hip level in height, standing on the far side of the room. One was filled with an ugly blackish-green sludge, and the other with clear water. As Elladan and Elrohir were bodily hauled in, Ralorn smiled slightly as he watched the twins struggle. Years of revengeful waiting were about to be justified.

The guards in charge of Legolas and Aragorn returned, quickly catching Ralorn's attention. "My lord, the prisoners are secured now. We will await your command in regards to them."

Elrohir was the first to stop his struggle and angrily look into the merciless eyes of his capturer. "Valar curse you Ralorn!"

Ralorn smiled a bit wider, ignoring the curse. By speaking first in this room, Elrohir had just sealed his own fate. Innocently, he responded as though he were talking to a mere child. "Can you still remember nothing Elrohir? I thought my messenger would help you understand."

Elrohir glared at the other's tone but froze slightly at the sound of his own name. But somewhere within his memory something twanged. He knew what Ralorn was referring to. Events of the past suddenly came to him, dark, painful and filled with heartache. Thoughts of then mixed with thoughts of now and suddenly Elrohir feared even more for Estel and Legolas. Feared what would happen to them should the twins met their end here. He feared for Elladan should they try to kill him in front of his twin first. He did not once, however, ever fear for himself.

"Ralorn, where is Estel and Legolas!" Elrohir's hard gaze couldn't be moved from the dark face underneath the hood. "They've done nothing, you must let them go!"

Ralorn smiled widely this time. "They've been taken care of, don't you fret too much. It's your own life you should worry about right now."

Elladan joined the conversation. "What do you mean, being taken care of? What have you done to them now? What else could you have possibly done! I care not for my own life, I care about theirs!" The searing, lethal tone was growing in strength as Elladan became angrier and more in realization of his powerlessness. Though usually slower to anger than his twin, Elrohir radiated the rage Elladan felt.

"That's none of your concern anymore." Ralorn removed his hood for the first time and let the twins see his face for the first time; the scars of a long forgotten fire unveiled themselves to both the twins. Grown taller and stronger, but the scars changed him so much more that they could no longer recognize the half-elf from the much younger one they had known many, many years ago.

Ralorn could see the understanding flash in the twins' eyes and nodded slowly. "You do remember. Good. It was also good of you to tell the young man nothing. It made it so much more interesting to see him succumb to fear so quickly."

"What! What have you done to him!" Elladan tried to lunge for the elf that stood so calmly in front of him, but his arms were held fast in the grip of his two guards. The memory of the wounds Estel bore would not fade away. Neither twin looked away from their capturer as he spoke next. "I swear if you've done anything more to him I'll-"

"Oh, he was useful in his own way," Ralorn said, cutting Elladan off. "Or at least should have been; more than he was." Ralorn looked quite annoyed for a moment. "He's got a lot of spirit and plenty of stubbornness to fill two more of his kind. Luckily for me I've known worse tempered horses. Besides, he served his purpose in the end."

"And that was what?" Elrohir asked fiercely, but could not hide the fear that made his voice shake.

"To bring you two to me. I've been waiting for years to get you! As for the ranger and his friend, I hope they both rot where we left them. Death is far too easy and far too merciful for the likes of any of you. One of you can go join them soon, and endure seeing their fate along with your own."

Ralorn was watching Elrohir with a malicious glint in his eye. With a short nod of his head, Elrohir's guards gripped the elf's arms tightly and pulled him to one of the basins. Elrohir tried to resist, but could not get free. His bonds were removed, and without warning one of his guards punched him hard across the head, just short of knocking him out.

Elladan let out a gasp as Elrohir's legs buckled in surprise and his eyes glassed over for a few seconds. Ralorn looked over at Elladan and glared at the fire in the twin's eyes. "Weren't you listening to me Elladan? Only one of you will get to go see your little human brother, if he's still alive." He continued pensively. "I'm not entirely sure how much humans can take."

"Ralorn, what are you doing?" Elladan was angry enough to kill the elf, but his guards and bonds kept him from really trying. He kept one eye on Elrohir in growing concern. His gut screamed that something was wrong – very wrong. "What is that?"

"I was about to get into that, since I knew you were going to ask anyway." Ralorn nodded again to the guards that held Elrohir, and before Elrohir fully came to they plunged his hands into the black-green substance, nearly reaching his elbows. It was thick and sticky, and smelled of mud and bitter ale. Elrohir tried to recoil away from the foulness it brought to him but the guards held him firm.

"This substance is something I came by only recently, from some passerby men I met on the road. Remarkable substance really. It's used for animal sacrifice, by superstitious farmers when crop years are bad. Not so much anymore though. This concoction is quite rare now."

As he spoke, the guards directed Elrohir's arms into the basin of water. In the attempt to protect his palms Elrohir clenched his hands into fists, but as it turned out he had done exactly what the guards wanted him to do. As his arms were submerged, the sticky sludge hardened tighter than a drum. His hands were now completely immobile; useless stumps. He couldn't flex his fingers nor bend his wrists.

Elrohir had no warning as again one of his guards punched him hard, this time in the gut of his stomach and removing all air from his lungs. As Elrohir struggled to breathe, they forced his head into the unknown substance. Elrohir ripped his head up, his face, hair, and neck covered with the mixture, fighting violently now to get away.

"I've been waiting to use it, just for you. Don't worry Elladan, you won't have to suffer your death as easily as this, but you will stay here to watch your brother draw his last breath. That is... if he could."

One guard slapped a handful of the mud into the twin's face and Elrohir's head was forced under the water. As before, it sealed in the measure of a few breaths. Momentarily weak from the unexpected punch in his gut, Elrohir hadn't even been able to suck in one last breath to hold in his lungs. The guards let go of his arms and he collapsed to the ground, desperately trying to pull the mask off his face but his hands were useless to help free him. He could find no air. Panic filled the elf. He was suffocating!

"Elrohir!" Elladan screamed at the twisting, writhing figure of his twin fighting for air on the ground, but Elrohir's guards came to help restrain him. Elladan barely registered they were there. He had promised they would be all right! He had promised! Why was everything turning against him!

Now held by four elves, Elladan worked himself into a rage that shamed a consuming fire. Roaring like one possessed and lashing out in anyway he could, he fought all four guards, but he could not get free! Could not help his brother.

He couldn't even take his anger and pain out on the one that caused it all.

After about a minute Elrohir's struggles were fast becoming weaker and slower. He knew he wasn't getting out of this by himself, and all help had been cut from him. He could faintly hear Elladan's fury through his death mask and tried to answer him, but with no way to speak he had to suffer through his silence. He wanted to tell his twin that he should not worry so much... to worry over Estel and Legolas... he wanted to tell him he loved him before passing on... but he couldn't. His head grew light and his limbs heavy. His erratic heart-rate began to slow.

Elladan turned fiercely burning, tear-filled eyes to Ralorn. "How could you do this? What gives you the conscience to do such a thing!"

For the first time, Ralorn's face lost some of the hardened edge though his eyes were still filled with ire. "Parhaps now you can see and understand what your actions did to me, right before I left Rivendell."

"No Ralorn, you hit my sister! What would you have done if she were yours! Please, don't kill my brother!" Elladan had tears falling down his face, uncontrolled and yet muted, downcast with heart-stopping pain. He was ashamed of his weakness, but it was all too much, just too much!

"That was only the final action, but there is much more!" Ralorn's eyes grew cold and hard again. "And you have done this very thing to me! You, who proclaim to be good, to protect and defend the innocent.." he laughed harshly at the thought. "I do not believe such lies. I know what you both are; you have shown me what you truly believe inside. Cold... heartless... murderers!" he bit out every word with distain. "Destroyers of what I used to believe in, of who I used to be, and you didn't even know it, didn't even care! And I swore you would know my pain. You were going to know the long, cold, endless nights I had to endure after the fire and after I was left alone. And now you do understand what that was like, don't you? I'm going to make sure you understand as I did when you took my life away, when I started to suffocate as he is!"

Elladan turned away, memories flashing through him again, and once again concentrated on his fading brother. Ralorn didn't move, watching them both closely.

"Elrohir, no! No..." Elladan's fight was growing weaker as he watched his twin move slower. Tears fell silent down his face as he watched Elrohir struggle to stay conscious, but all too soon his twin ceased to move, and lay silent on the floor.

"NNNNOOOOOO!" at a signal the guards began to wrestle Elladan out of the room. In the end the eldar elf had to be picked up and carried in order to get him to budge, though he was no small task when attempting to hold him down. "NO! YOU CAN'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM HIM!"

There was a strange thudding in his head, one he couldn't quite discern the cause as of yet. It sounded oddly like a heartbeat, drumming low and deep within him, growing slower and weaker as the moments passed.

Somewhere in the darkness he was in, Elrohir heard Elladan and struggled one last time to rise, but the lack of air had all but destroyed his senses and his lightheadedness pulled him down before he even reached half way. He fell forward, smacking his face against one of the stone basins. It probably would have been forceful enough to break his nose, but the hard mask took in the full impact and left him unscarred. A strange calm washed over him as his head rolled to the side.

All sounds of boots and cloaks faded away, leaving him alone. He stopped moving, allowing anyone that may still be there in watchful silence to believe he was already dead. He let his body relax as darkness reached out to swallow him whole, his head spinning from lack of oxygen.

The last thing he barely heard was Elladan again crying out his name, the sound echoing through the cave's paths.

"ELROHIR!"

His world had faded completely now. Elrohir was gone.

§§§

"Almost there..." Legolas whispered. He had resumed his job and had been digging for hours with desperation beyond words, but he was so close now! The tunnel he had created was over fifteen feet long and he could feel the ground grow softer under his touch. The rain outside was coming down so heavily that now because Legolas had removed the supporting back layers of the surface, what was left in the obstruction in front of him was literally melting away on its own.

"How far?" Aragorn's quiet voice echoed up to lightly touch Legolas' ears.

"I think-" Legolas cut himself off, jumping suddenly in surprise as the earth broke away to reveal a dark world just within his grasp. The sun wouldn't be up for a few hours and the air was choked with falling water, but to breathe free air again! Legolas was immediately exhilarated by the feeling. "-I'm done!"

Aragorn tilted his head toward the hole. "You broke through?"

"Yes!" Legolas rammed his upper body into the thin layer that remained, creating a hole at the top large enough for him to crawl through. Clumps of mud fell around him and in front of him. Rain cascaded down his face, hair, and shoulders, taking with it the debris that caked his skin as well. He sighed with relief. Why anyone would choose rock over tree was beyond him. The feelings of suffocation and loss left his heart and the song of the trees replaced the pain.

Backing up slowly, Legolas again entered the room and made his way to Aragorn's side, sifting through the layers of loose dirt and mud he had removed. Again lifting the man up into his arms carefully, he smiled. "Let's get out of here."

Aragorn nodded wearily, but eagerly.

Getting out wasn't easy. The tunnel was only large enough for one person to fit through at a time. Aragorn was eventually forced to struggle through on his own, crawling painfully slow with his arms protesting violently and his back and legs nearly useless. But with Legolas' constant encouragement even he found the last bout of strength to make it through.

Once outside, he lay flat on the ground on his stomach, energy gone, and breathing in the sweet smells of the wet world around him. The rain cleansed him, washing away the blood from his body as Legolas once again entered the tunnel to block the hole from the inside with the heavy planks he had pulled out. He didn't want their method of escape to be too obvious, though the mountains of mud in the room would probably hint some idea whether he liked it or not.

When all was done, Legolas left the earth for the surface and knelt by his friend's side. As he did so, Aragorn turned his head and locked his gaze with the elf. Legolas wasn't sure what he read in the look in the man's silver eyes, but he could recognize the immeasurable gratitude that filled them, and Aragorn smiled for the first time since they had been reunited.

The rain still fell with a fury and they were both quickly soaked. Legolas lifted the ranger gently from the ground and held him closer for a moment, touching his forehead to the man's. No words were spoken, none adequate enough to express what either felt inside, but in the silence of the unspoken conversation, understanding was perfect. Lovingly shouldering his friend, Legolas fled into the cover of the woods.

00000000000

It took all of Ralorn's men to restrain Elladan, for the elf twin seemed to have lost all control. They took him to a similar room as what they kept Aragorn and Legolas in, restrained him in chains connected to the ceiling, and proceeded to teach Elladan prudence in their own way.

Elladan however, was barely touched by that world. He was not wandering toward Mandos' halls but in another realm entirely, one were he could see and touch nothing, but he could both feel and hear the strange thudding in his head that now had a name – Elrohir's heartbeat.

After they had taken him away from his twin, Elladan could still sense his brother's life. It had faded, even stopped for a minute, but now it was gradually returning in rhythm and strength. Elrohir was alive, he was sure of it. The others may have considered Elrohir dead, but Elladan would not... not yet. He could feel the life of his twin almost as acutely as his own.

Though Elladan's mind was far from where his body was, he still fought against Ralorn and his men. His spirit raged against them, unbroken and unbridled, and despite the face that he was chained he played them at their own games with his own. They couldn't break him, he had taken his mind away and existed in a place outside their control.

Ralorn was in a dangerous mood. With one twin supposed dead and the other completely incompliant, it was like beating a dead horse. This was not something even Mayroniel had control over. When Elladan had taken his mind away as few had the mind power to do in such extreme circumstances, they had lost their chance to make the elf twin suffer through the abuse they now let loose on his body.

Elladan knew they were physically hurting him, trying to bring him back so they could make him suffer, but he refused to let go of the realm he had found where he was safe and constantly assured of his twin's presence; not only here but in life, and that knowledge was enough to keep him alive.

§§§

Aragorn had already fallen to unconsciousness. His head rolled lifelessly against Legolas' shoulder and neck, his body chilled to the bone from the rain. Legolas had long since wrapped the man in his cloak that had miraculously not been taken from him, and carried his friend close as he searched desperately for a place to take shelter.

Unharmed by the rain but none the less affected by it since he no longer wore his cloak, the elf could feel cold slowly creeping into his body and he walked. It had been well over an hour, he needed to get his friend out of the rain fast.

'Come on,' Legolas whispered as he stopped a moment to look around. 'There were so many outcroppings on the way, why can I not find one now?'

Another fruitless glance around brought him no results. Legolas sighed in frustration. The only way to go now if shelter was to be had was down the mountain. The elf shifted the human in his arms so he would be more secure and began his precarious journey down the slick, muddy, dangerous trails.

Mist ghosted over the edge of the land, covering the ground in a blanket of transparent white. The rain was harsh; thick fat drops fell from the sky with such intensity that Legolas knew it wouldn't stop anytime soon. Heavy bolts of lightning filled the sky. It was dangerous to be out in this weather, but to be in the thick of it was madness.

Another brilliant flash of light tore through the sky, and in that brief moment Legolas spotted an outcropping nearly fifty feet away from where he stood. Sighing in relief, Legolas shifted Aragorn again and made his way swiftly to the natural hollow.

The hollow was about twenty feet deep into the mountain, but everything underneath the shelf was protected from the storm, the ground completely dry. Layers upon layers of fading plant life cushioned the elf's light tread, the combination of leaves and the strong smell of pine comforting. Legolas walked to the back of the hollow, searching for any danger but finding none. They had upset a family of field mice and a fox scampered away, but the elf could sense no threats.

With the care he had not lost, Legolas laid Aragorn down in the bed of soft undergrowth, unwrapping the cloak that was now soaked through and useless. As the cloth left the man, Aragorn began to shiver more violently in his delirious slumber, now more exposed to the outside air and it did him little good.

"Hang on Estel, the cloak is soaked, it will do you more harm than good now," Legolas whispered as he gathered dry tinder to build a fire close to the man. Sparks grew to gentle flames, aided by the elf and the quick increase of dry wood. Soon Legolas had the interior of the hollow filled with a bright light that had nothing to do with the lightning across the sky.

For the second time that night, Legolas checked Aragorn's injuries and vitals. The man wasn't doing well. The mud had stopped all blood flow, but the injuries were still in desperate need of better care and the ranger was now in the beginning throws of a deep-set fever. Legolas had nothing to give, nothing to aide the man anymore than he already had. Legolas gently pulled the cloak our from under his friend and shook it out near the fire to dry.

The cloak dried quickly. The light, but sturdy material was of elven make, strong and reliable at need. Once Legolas could feel no dampness and only warmth from the cloth, he again wrapped it around his friend's body. Aragorn stopped shivering so much, but Legolas could sense the man's body slowly failing.

Aragorn's breath was rough, short, and shallow. Legolas lay down behind him and gathered the man's upper body into his arms, trying to infuse some life with his touch. But he was trembling as he did so. Aragorn's breathing evened out as soon as he felt the arms wrap around him, but still, it was not enough. Legolas shut his eyes against the press of emotion that threatened to betray him. It was not supposed to be this way... it should never have to be this way.

The slapping of the rain outside became gentle and soothing to listen to, nearly putting Legolas to sleep. Yet he fought the urge. The elf was determined that if he could offer Aragorn nothing else, that he would be there until the end.

Time faded from his mind again. Dawn was still several hours away but the moon shone brightly this night, the clouds receding slowly on to other ranges under the press of the wind. The storm was losing its intensity, the thickness of the rain fading to a gentle drizzle. Aragorn continued to burn with fever, and though Legolas had an unending supply of water at hand, the man had not woken in a long time. Legolas continued to hold him close, watching the black sky above his fire, but it was several minutes before the elf noticed the wetness of his face that had nothing to do with the mist in the air.

A short while later Legolas was broken out of his revere... there was a new sound now, a new presence amidst the rain that the elf readily knew to be some intruder. Someone was coming close, and they were not alone. Legolas made to get up, but he hesitated. He didn't want to move, he wanted to stay, but something tugged at his mind, urging him to go seek out the source of what he felt. The pull did not leave him and a bit unwillingly Legolas left his post, silently praying to the Valar that Aragorn would still be in this world when he returned. Leaving Aragorn's side, Legolas walked to the edge of the lip over his head and peered out into the world around him. Below where he stood there was nothing out of the ordinary, but above there was. The dark of night and the ever falling rain obscured his vision a little, but Legolas could still see what he had sensed in the hollow.

It was like a physical creation of a dream. Two horses were walking slowly toward the hollow; one riderless, the other was not. The rider was wrapped in a cloak, the face obscured entirely, but the horse that was following with no rider Legolas recognized, and his heart leapt into his throat.

"Silme?" he whispered, surprise and sheer shock taking him for a moment. He shook his head, looked again. It was her. It was Silme!

"Silme!" Legolas called out the mare as he leapt from the cover of the hollow. He slid a little on the muddy ground but the elf didn't let that stop him. Seeing Silme alive meant many things to him, but mostly it meant a possible chance for Estel.

"Legolas!" the rider called out to him now. The being sounded as relieved as Legolas felt and quickly dismounted, throwing back the hood that had shielded all features. The rider stood next to a tall white stallion upon which the being had be riding, waiting patiently for the elf prince to recognize more than just his horse.

Legolas stopped dead. The rider smiled at him gently, all features now clear. Legolas stared, knowing who it was and surprise took him again. Of all the people he may have expected, she was the last one Legolas would have looked for here...

"Arwen?" Legolas stood not thirty feet from the elf-maiden, amazed. Arwen smiled even though it did not touch her eyes in full, nodding in confirmation. There was a story behind here presence, Legolas was sure of it, but at the moment that was the last thing on his mind.

It was now Legolas' turn to surprise her. Once his initial shock had released him the elf rushed forward again, reaching the girl in seconds and throwing his arms around her. Legolas had never been more relieved to see someone, his tears concealed by the rain.

Emotionally weary and travel-worn though she was, Arwen responded in kind, embracing the prince and holding him tightly. They had known each other for so many years; they were less like friends and more like brother and sister. It was with such respect between them that they could greet in such a way.

Legolas pulled back and shook his head at her, still in shock. "Arwen, I don't know how you are here but I am so glad you are."

Arwen's face was full of both suffering and relief. "I've been looking for you ever since I found Silme. She told me you had been captured, but when I returned to the cave you were no longer there." She looked up at him carefully. "I had to be careful, I've been a part of the guard but Ralorn knows now that I have betrayed him."

Something snagged in Legolas' memory, bringing him back to his brief discussion about a certain guard with Gowen. Pieces of the puzzle began to appear and fit together. "But then you...?"

"I was known to them as Arahil." Arwen nodded heavily, much still weighing on her mind. "I joined the guard in secrecy to protect Estel." Her face fell slightly, caught for a moment in the remembrance of her failure.

"Don't worry Arwen, I have Estel with me and he lives still." Legolas was brought back to the present need, and a near frantic desperation raged in him again. "It is so good to see you! Silme still retains all of the provisions I gave her to bear-" Legolas smiled approvingly at the mare. "I feared I would find no help, but if we hurry Estel may still have a chance."

"He is with you? He lives still?" a rush of hope filled the elf-maiden's eyes. She had long since feared she had lost the one she had been trying to save. She feared Aragorn had died – so hurt and alone. To find it was not so was like water on her parched spirit.

"Yes, he lives still, if only just. Please, come help me." Legolas beckoned her to follow him back to the hollow, leading the horses forward.

The hollow was barely deep enough to hold them all. Legolas settled Silme and Asfaloth near the entrance, speaking to them softly. It would be some time before he and Arwen would be able to care for them, so he bid both horses be patient. Asfaloth nickered softly at him and Silme playfully nipped his shoulder. They both would wait, they understood the need that drove the two elves in regards to the one who had been injured. Legolas removed all his provisions from Silme's back, patting her again before returning to Aragorn's side.

Arwen had knelt next to Aragorn's head, staring down at him in a mixture of open horror and disbelief. Guilt rose into her throat, cutting her off from speech for a moment. At one point she reached out to touch him, but her hand refused to get too close. Memories of what she had seen and what had happened the last time she had touched him held her back like a chain.

Legolas easily noticed the change that had swept over the elf-maiden and called out to her softly as he too knelt on Aragorn's other side. "Arwen? What's wrong?"

Arwen seemed to snap out of her daze. "Nothing. It's just... I thought..." she didn't seem to be able to continue.

"I know," Legolas whispered as he unloaded his pack. "When I saw him for the first time, I felt the same." He pulled out a tightly woven pouch with a screw-cap on the top and shook it carefully, listening to the contents slosh around. There were not regular herbs in the pouch but a thin clear colored mixture called Tordol.

"Arwen," Legolas held the pouch out so she could see it better. "We need to stabilize him for pain and the swelling before taking care of his wounds. I have Tordol with me, it will help with both, but we have to administer it to his mouth, under his tongue. He can't swallow it; it must be absorbed and carried directly to his bloodstream."

Arwen nodded, understanding the method. The bottom of the mouth was like a sponge; often it was the easiest to stimulate a patient that way. The Tordol would be quick acting and very powerful. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help me hold him upright and keep his head level while I give him the dose slowly. It shouldn't take long."

Arwen nodded, and with Legolas' help, propped Aragorn up against the hollow's back wall and held his head while the prince administered the Tordol. As soon as the medication touched his tongue, Aragorn stirred drowsily and opened his eyes.

"Hello Estel, how thoughtful of you to join us," Legolas whispered as Aragorn turned blurry eyes to his friend. Unable to react for the moment, he allowed Legolas to give him the Tordol.

The man winced at the taste, but Legolas shushed him before he could do anything stupid. "Relax Estel, it is Tordol, just hold it under your tongue and let it help you."

Aragorn shut his eyes and did as Legolas bid him, letting the powerful mixture of herbs stimulate his body as it slowly dissolved from his mouth. After a few minutes and several small doses later, the ache of his body began to fade from his mind. Legolas quickly finished the correct dosage and stowed the pouch away in his pack.

As Legolas' attention was elsewhere for the moment, Aragorn realized then that it had not been his friend holding him up. Looking over to his other side, Aragorn found himself staring straight into the familiar grey eyes of his guard. His vision wove in and out of focus, he could not tell immediately that Arwen was there and not Arahil, though the two where the same and the differences where not strong.

"Arahil?" he whispered, his voice rough. His brow creased in confusion, trying to figure out how the guard was here. Or better yet, why he was here. The escape he and Legolas had pulled off still eluded his mind though he tried to remember what had happened.

Arwen shook her head slowly. "No Estel, I am Arahil no more."

Aragorn starred at her strangely, understanding slowly entering his eyes. "You told me... not to guess who you were, but... I knew... I had seen you before..." he paused, gathering his wavering breath.

"Arwen," he said softly. "It was you... Arwen."

Arwen smiled softly at him, her eyes filling with tears. "Forgive me Estel, I tried to protect you, I wanted to keep you from harm... please, forgive me my failure..."

Aragorn only shook his head at her, shutting his eyes in a moment of contentment, the mystery solved. "Shh... you already saved me... you have nothing to... mourn for..." he tried to move his arms, but his shoulders where numb and the limbs were only dead weight now, but he continued to sooth in the deep raspy tones of his voice. "Shh... Shh..."

Legolas joined them then, quietly so as to not disturb either. Arwen glanced at him anyway, her face lined with tears but a light had entered back into her eyes. She had not yet forgiven herself, but she was less tense seeing that Aragorn bore her no ill will. Just before she allowed Legolas to lay the man back down, she leaned close to the man and kissed him gently on the forehead. "Thank you Estel," she whispered to him, her appreciation clear.

She and Legolas gently laid the ranger back down on the ground, and Legolas tossed Arwen a soft cloth and a sponge, along with a roll of bandages. "Wash the mud away," Legolas instructed her gently. "It was all I could use in the caves and it helped stop the bleeding, but it cannot remain there for much longer. When you uncover a wound, dress it appropriately. He has many that we must take care of."

Arwen nodded, brushing the tears away and taking up the cloth that had been given to her. Using the rainwater falling from outside the hollow, she and Legolas washed the mud away from the ranger's body. Cuts and bruises were uncovered one by one and cared for; cuts sewn up if deep enough and wrapped up to protect from infection, bruises bathed in liniment, bones reset in place and splinted. His shoulders were wrapped to keep them steady while they healed. The whip marks on the man's feet were washed clean, treated for infection, sewn in appropriate places and bound tightly in bandages. Both elves where gentle and Aragorn remained awake through the entire ordeal, though most of what they did escaped his normal attention, his body taken care of by the Tordol. When Legolas expressed his concern about clothing, Arwen dug through her pack and came up with a dark green tunic and leggings that she had borrowed for her trip that seemed to be just about Aragorn's size. The clothing was loose and soft, a comfortable fit and once all the wounds had been cared for they redressed him in the light elven material.

Legolas shook out his cloak and laid it on the ground near the fire, laying his friend on the thick fabric and covering him with an extra cloak and blanket Arwen drummed up from her belongings. As he was laid to rest at last, Aragorn fell to slumber, his breathing easier.

"We'll have to keep him on Augmentin until we can get back to Rivendell, which should fight off any infection until he can be better examined," Legolas said to Arwen as they cleaned up the hollow. Arwen knew Augmentin was also a powerful herb, wonderful for destroying infection without damaging anything else. She was impressed however, with Legolas' knowledge of the drug, and not only that. The entire treatment had been lead by him; she wondered where he had learned it.

"Legolas, where did you learn all this about healing? I had no idea you knew so much about treating victims so severely beaten as this. Where did you learn it?"

Legolas became more subdued as he repacked his pack. "I've just become good at it. Most of the hurts Estel took could easily be repaired, the rest I learned from watching your father." Though he was proud of the fact that he could help his friend thus, he did not like the healer's role and he knew now that he never would. It was bad enough having to care for the ones he cared about the most, it was not something he looked forward to in the slightest.

"I do not enjoy being the healer. There is so much pressure in doing the right thing, knowing what to do and how to do it. My fear is that there is something more ailing Estel that I cannot sense, much less take care of. I will feel much better when we can deliver him to more capable hands." Legolas shook his head. "I learned all I could from your father about extensive injuries such as many of these, but I lack the talent to find what hurts have been taken within."

"You've done your best," Arwen whispered to him. "And if you had not known what to do, where would Estel be? He would not survive a trip through the mountains so unstable. Do not fear for him, you have already saved his life and I know he will be all right."

Legolas looked back up at her and smiled. "Thank you. It is good to know you have confidence where I do not."

Arwen nodded at the thanks and began cleaning up again.

Now that Aragorn was out of critical danger, Legolas and Arwen turned their attention to their horses. For the next several minutes they relieved both of their burdens and brushed both animals dry. Legolas led Silme to the back of the hollow where there was more break from the wind and rain, stroking her fondly.

"Thank you," he whispered to the mare. If it had not been for her and Arwen, Estel would have perished this night. There was no doubt in his mind that it could have very well ended up that way. Silme accepted his thanks and nuzzled him back, standing straight and tall now that she was dry and all weariness gone.

As Legolas turned around, he discovered Arwen to already have found asleep. Not two feet from Aragorn's left side opposite of the fire, she had curled up underneath her cloak and burrowed down into the leaves. Her raven colored hair spilled down behind her head and framed her face. Eyes half open and the weary lines fading, she looked peaceful.

Legolas glanced back out of the hollow before laying down himself. The rain was easing up even more and there was only distant rumbling now. The storm would surely be over by dawn and the thought cheered him a little. Then it would be much safer to travel, and parhaps even easier to make a decision about what to do next. His heart clenched at the thought of the twins still trapped, but he could do nothing for them now, he had not slept and after all he had done his body needed at least the few hours before dawn. Parhaps with Arwen here, he could leave her to take care of Aragorn and he could return to the cave... find a way to set the twins free... get them all out of this nightmare.

Legolas settled at Aragon's head, throwing a few more logs into the fire and staring unseeingly into the growing flames. His time with Estel was growing short, in the morning he would most likely leave the man behind. After all the time he had spent now fighting to protect the ranger, it was a bit difficult to suddenly switch the roles. A few minutes later the prince lay down on his side and like Arwen burrowed into the comfortable plant life that covered the ground. With one hand though, he reached out and gently placed it on the side of Aragorn's face, feeling both the feverish heat but the life in the man's body. Lifting up to one elbow, he brushed the ranger's long hair out of his face and let his fingers weave into the unruly curls. He couldn't sleep; he could barely believe his friend was still breathing and his heart was close to bursting. For a few minutes, he felt, he could just watch the man sleep.

Minutes later found Legolas asleep too, his head having fallen right next to his friend's, upside down in regards to Aragorn's, his hand still trapped in the ranger's dark hair. Not knowing what tomorrow would bring, it was comforting to just be together.

About a half hour later, there was something new in the sky that was neither wind nor rain. Dawn was still a ways away, but a small falcon did not let that stop him. Cold, wet, hungry, and lost, Celebnar was searching desperately for the elf he had come to regard as not only a master but a friend. He flew high in the sky, but he was weakening and his body was slowly succumbing to weariness.

Then he heard a horse whinny a short distance away. Celebnar turned to it, knowing that if he found the horse he would most likely find shelter as well. About two minutes later, he spotted a white-grey mare in the distance at the entrance of what looked like a hollow. Celebnar called out to her, his voice shrill but weak. He made a bee line for her, reaching the hollow's opening in record time and landing in a heap at Silme's feet.

All the beings within were sleeping still, but Silme had woken briefly for some unknown reason. Wandering out to the open air, she breathed in deeply of the cold air and relieved the slight stuffiness of the hollow that had filled her lungs. It was in the open that she had seen the little falcon, and knowing who he was she had called out to him, guiding him to shelter.

Celebnar was breathing hard on the forest floor, not even moving from where he had landed. His beak was wide open and his eyes slits, his breast pumping heavily for more oxygen. Silme let her head fall and nuzzled the bird with her nose, trying to get him to stand up again and get out of the last of the falling rain.

The falcon looked up at her with trusting eyes, and in a burst of forced energy took flight again, landing on the mare's back. Silme took her precious burden back into the hollow, stopping near Legolas' side. Celebnar left her back and landed on the ground near the elf, his breath still heavy as he walked forward. Before he got too far, he turned around and trilled gently at Silme, thanking her in his own way. The mare grunted and turned around, walking to where Legolas had left her and swiftly falling back asleep.

Celebnar walked right up to Legolas' side and pressed close to the elf's body. The falcon was soaked from the intensity of the rain and his time searching for the elf after he had flown away in fear had pressed his abilities. Shaking himself repeatedly and sneezing in short, little huffs, the falcon attempted to care for himself as he was used to doing.

It was during this time that Legolas awoke, looking over Aragorn's head to the little falcon that had taken up homestead next to his stomach. Legolas smiled. "Celebnar, you came back." he whispered, reaching over and patting the falcon softly, an action that pleased the little creature very much. Celebnar sneezed again and made another attempt to preen his feathers.

Legolas let him have his way. There wasn't anything he could do to help Celebnar dry off; all that he could have done was already in effect. The fire still burned bright and hot and the elf's own body heat aide d the bird now. Legolas settled back down again, a smile spreading over his face as he played with a single lock of Aragorn's hair between two fingers.

He now knew what to do.

0000000000

It was the oddest sensation, centered around his nose and the rest of his senses momentarily paralyzed. This was not how he expected Mandos' realm to be like. Elrohir literally could not move; though his body was gradually returning to his mind he had no control over his limbs. After a lifetime of freedom this was momentarily terrifying.

The sensation came again slowly, then faded, then began again before Elrohir realized what was happening. He was not dead, he was still stuck in a lonely mountain cave, and while the deadly mask was still attached to his head, he could breathe. Air was filling his lungs and his body responded naturally to it through a single crack over his left nostril, allowing him freedom he was not intended to have. Elrohir figured the mask must have cracked when he slammed against the basins however long it was before.

As soon as he realized he could breathe, Elrohir sucked harder, wanting more. The crack closed off at once, cutting his supply. Elrohir choked underneath the mask and almost blacked out again.

'Slowly,' his starved brain urged his body. 'Breathe slowly.'

Elrohir stilled his body and allowed the air to enter his lungs naturally. Sweet, clear air filled him, replacing the stale emptiness that had once been there. But more, he needed more! He sucked too hard again and the mask sealed again. Slowly, just breathe slowly. How frustrating it was to breathe this way, but to breathe in too hard and receive none at all!

Finally Elrohir learned patience in this, training his body to take in air only naturally and for several minutes he satisfied his lungs, removing the fogginess of his mind that had grown dangerously thick. His mind cleared, and he again began to regain the power over his limbs. Elrohir dared not move too far from where he lay, 'lest someone returned and discovered him alive. Time blurred into space and after a while he turned inwards, searching. There was a pull on his spirit that became stronger as his mind awoke more, an unspoken plea in a strange place.

He found Elladan.

Elrohir could sense his twin as acutely as Elladan could sense him. Elrohir could sense as well Elladan's physical torment and how the eldar fought back against it, but also how Elladan had withdrawn his mind, seeking and finding solace here. Soon Elrohir could feel Elladan so deeply it was as if he was right there next to him.

For a long time they stayed together thus in a realm only few knew the value of. The twins drew and expanded both strength and will from each other, infusing hope and life. They knew they would need it, for without it they both would be lost. So much had happened already that devastated them both, but there was much more to come that they both needed to prepare for, and now may be the only time. For the safety of themselves and the ones they cared for, it was what they needed the most.

Elrohir suddenly sensed their time together was drawing to a close, but as for why he was unsure. He felt that soon it would be the time to act, the time to fight back. Nearly two and a half hours had passed and the need to move again was now very strong.

"_I'm coming for you, El," _Elrohir whispered in his mind, unwilling to break the connection but understanding why it needed to happen. Something was coming, something that they needed to be ready for and would undoubtedly change the fates of them all.

"_Come quickly. I will return to them if you will return to me," _Elladan could sense the pull to get moving as well, and though he did not desire to, he would return to his body and fight as long as he had strength, until either Mandos made his claim or rescue came.

"_Fight and I will come. Together we will finish this... to whatever end."_

Elrohir rolled over carefully, getting up on all fours and felt around for the basins. Those basins once held his death, now they held the key to his life. Pressing his nose against the edge of one, Elrohir held the crack in the mask open. For the first time, he breathed deeply.

When he pressed one trapped hand against the rim of the basin and rubbed back and forth, the substance that confined him flaked away in chunks. He freed his thumb; moments later all five fingers popped loose at once. With his free hand Elrohir tore a chunk over his nose off – now he could breathe freely.

In another minute Elrohir had both hands free and most of the residue off his face. Some of the mask near his skin had not hardened all the way, leaving behind the original sticky texture. The elf dunked his head into the basin full of water, hardening it so it would be easier to remove.

Elrohir suddenly heard something behind him. He turned slowly.

Mayroniel stood in the doorway, a knife in his hands. Ralorn had requested of him to go check on the prisoners, only to find that both Legolas and Strider and escaped and this one still alive. The knife he held was the same one he had threatened Aragorn with, had killed Valan with, and there was no doubt in Elrohir's mind that Mayroniel intended to use it against him next.

"You aren't playing easy to kill, Elrohir," Mayroniel hissed at him, his eyes dark and his gaze heavy. His grip on the knife tightened.

Elrohir stopped removing the last of the death mask, although the remaining strips of the mask still stuck to his face and hair must have made him look like a demon. He faced the other elf, took his fighting stance. The look in his eyes was unsettling, like watching a bridled fire.

At that moment, Elrohir heard a bow twang behind Mayroniel.


	13. A Darker Void

Chapter 12

**A Darker Void**

Dawn had come. Barely distinguishable shadows of mist hung over areas of water, illuminated by what was left of the darkness of night. The sun rose slowly, painting the sky with colors of orange and white, a pale blue in the background. Few clouds if any were left from the night before; the rain had finally stopped. The dew on the ground was extra heavy, and the earth as slick as ice in many places.

Legolas walked alone, back to the cave. Several minutes before sunrise he had left the hollow in silence, wanting to pursue the cave and its inhabitants on his own. He would not endanger anyone's life beyond his own, so he had left Arwen, Estel, and the horses behind, leaving Arwen in charge. She had done enough, Legolas had figured, she needn't do anything more now. There was a barely noticeable limp in his step, a fading reminder of the injury he had been given on the previous night, but the prince's mind was far away from the wound and it did little to hinder his stubborn spirit.

All his weapons had been taken from him by Ralorn's men; all the elf carried now was Arwen's bow, full quiver, and a long knife. He hoped they would aide him well in the time to come; perhaps bring them all a victory that had been denied in the past few days.

As the elf walked, he thought back to his departure. Arwen had willingly accepted the charge of staying behind while Legolas went ahead, but the prince could tell she took no pleasure in being left behind. Legolas understood, but he had a better chance of sneaking in than Arwen did, so they had chosen their positions to reflect that.

The man was doing little better come morning. The two elves had halted his descent into darkness but his body was pitifully weak from all the hurt. Sleep, too, evaded the ranger. He didn't seem to be able to. He had woken several times during the night, though each time was silent and almost undetectable. Legolas wouldn't have known about it if Aragorn had not confessed to finding no rest. He had not slept in well over a day now and that with the latest shock to his system was not helping him heal. He wanted to, but he could not.

It had hardly been so difficult for the prince to leave anyone behind.

Their parting words however, had left the prince confused and distressed. Legolas recalled the burning conviction in his friend's eyes as he had made a single request of the elf prince. The memory came back to him, brief but meaningful.

"_Legolas," Aragorn whispered just as the elf made ready to depart. "I need you to promise me something."_

"_What is it?" Legolas knelt next to his friend and watched him closely._

_Estel sighed, his eyes and heart heavy. "If it is possible, bring Ralorn back alive."_

_Legolas stared at him, shock filling his face. "Why?"_

_The ranger leveled his friend with a firm stare, bidding the other to understand his wish. "Because I must know the truth."_

Legolas shook his head, in turmoil as he walked. He didn't know what to do. Ralorn deserved more than death for his actions, it didn't matter how much reason they had behind them. Returning hurt for hurt never helped anyone, ever. His crimes had all been planned, premeditated. Ralorn would willingly admit to it too, he already had.

Aragorn though, he was the last person Legolas would have expected to vouch for Ralorn's life. Aragorn had every right to demand Ralorn's execution. He had been kidnapped, beaten, starved, and tormented. Anyone would make such a request in regards to their tormentor. But Aragorn had not. He wanted answers, he wanted the truth. He wanted to know why.

But Legolas and the twins could have told him why! Could have told him Ralorn's history, shared the reasons of why the elf had become who he was and done the things that he had done. Yet the prince could remember the firm gaze Aragorn had given him when making the request. The man did not want any assumptions made by outsiders. He wanted the real truth, he wanted to understand. He wanted to be able to look his tormenter in the eye, because only then would he be able to let go of his fear. Only then could he be free.

Up ahead Legolas could make out the outline of the cave entrance. He was not far now, another ten minutes and he would reach his destination. He prayed for strength of mind in doing what must be done. He prayed he would be able to fulfill Estel's only request of him.

Amidst all the beauty of the waking world, the cave entrance was hideous. In the growing light, it truly did look like a scar in the earth, a gouge made by a ravenous animal upon the rocks. Legolas slowly climbed up the small hills that lead directly to it, his heart growing fierce within him. Before the time came, he could feel the fear that came with the danger he was placing himself in, but in the moment he felt none.

Just outside the cave was the first time he stopped, listening for anything from within. Pressing his ear against the earthen wall just to the left of the opening, Legolas listened.

The interior of the cave was in deep unrest. Anger and hate had woven itself into the walls of the entwining tunnels. Distress too, had found a home here. This cave was evil - not of its own devices, but because of the intentions of the one who had taken residence here. With these realizations came a pull, a desperate need to keep moving. Something was happening, he needed to keep going!

Legolas entered cautiously, keeping close to the wall. No one was about in the main tunnel. The prince inched his way forward, keeping his eyes roving over all he could see and his hands on the wall, walking in a direction that he had not been down before, lead solely on instinct. Following one cavern passage filled with flickering torchlight, he treaded softly toward its source.

He found the one called Mayroniel in the passageway.

Legolas froze. Mayroniel was not looking at him, but in the doorway of a connecting room the elf was watching someone else. Mayroniel's face was livid and the prince noticed the flash of a blade. Whomever it was in the cave room, Legolas was sure he did not want them to be harmed. He reached over his shoulder swiftly and silently, letting his fingers come into contact with one of the arrows in the quiver on his back.

"You aren't playing easy to kill, Elrohir," Mayroniel said darkly at a being in the room, removing all doubt from Legolas' mind.

In another second the archer let loose his projectile. The arrow flew straight and true, slamming into Mayroniel's body and driving deep into the elf's unprotected side, just under his ribs. Mayroniel gasped in sudden pain as he fell to the floor.

Legolas leapt over Mayroniel's prone body and entered the room though the elf underfoot made valiant attempts to stop him despite the arrow in his side. In front of him was a being that looked horribly disfigured, scaled black-green randomly about his face and streaked into his dark hair. The archer nearly raised his bow again to ward off this new creature, but then the being spoke to him, calling him by name.

"Legolas!" the creature rushed to him and Legolas knew.

"Elrohir!" they embraced briefly and broke apart, gripping each other's forearms tightly for a moment. They had been separated so long, never really knowing the fate of the other; it was so good to be together now!

"What happened?" Legolas immediately bombarded his friend with questions. "You look every bit some kind of demon-"

"Later," Elrohir said, picking off more pieces of the substance on his face. "We need to find Elladan, fast!"

Mayroniel attempted to rise, ignoring the elven arrow shaft protruding from his side. The look in his eyes was wild and desperate as he tried to hold the other two elves back from finding anything they looked for, but the deadly wound he had been dealt was sucking his strength. Wavering on his feet he nearly fell to the side as the archer and the elf twin advanced.

"Let me handle this," Elrohir told Legolas, stopping the prince in his forward motion to deal with Mayroniel. Elrohir walked swiftly to the wavering elf, his eyes firm but calm.

Mayroniel attempted to launch at Elrohir but the elf twin easily stopped him and forced the other against the opposite wall. His grey eyes flickered for only a moment, but Elrohir buried his intense anger behind the calm façade of his gaze.

"You have violated my family and assisted in both the torment and abuse of innocent lives. I am ashamed to be linked to you in race." Elrohir's bold grey eyes bore into Mayroniel where he was pressed up against the cavern wall. "Even if I killed you there would be no respite for your blackened heart. Do not stop me, do not follow, and I will give you the courtesy you do not give others, for I do not desire to take your life." Elrohir shoved him back, down the opposite side of the dark pathway. "Stay away from my family."

"Legolas, come with me." Elrohir turned in the opposite direction and did not look back as he began to run, his mind far forward in another task. Legolas did not hesitate to follow. They left Mayroniel, and the memory of him, behind.

Legolas raced down the cave hallway after Elrohir, deeper into the cave. He now knew where they were going; this was the same way the guard had taken him the day before, close to the only room with the door...

Árë and Faroth burst out into the cavern hallway. Concealed in a room not far from where Legolas and Aragorn had been taken, they had heard someone coming. They were caught! Elrohir could barely catch a glimpse of his twin just beyond them, but he could hear Elladan resisting in there. Both Elrohir and Legolas made firm eye contact with the two guards in front of them, ready. Never again would any of them back down.

Without even thinking Elrohir and Legolas acted first. Legolas drew his bow back and Elrohir struck barehanded. Árë and Faroth had been taught ground fighting but they found a formidable fighter in Elrohir, who took them both on at the same time. Elrohir knew what to do in situations such as these. He rushed Faroth first and kept the elf between him and Árë, who left Faroth to his foe and turned to contend with the elven prince.

Faroth aimed a hard right to the elf twin's head but Elrohir blocked it with his left, stepping closer and punching Faroth in the nose. Faroth brought one leg up and harshly kicked Elrohir in the side, then the stomach. Barely affected, Elrohir smacked Faroth's leg away from him and moved forward again, catching the elf around the neck with one arm and bringing his bared fist down against Faroth's kidney. The elf gasped slightly at the painful hit and wrapped both arms around Elrohir's waist, letting his clenched fists barrel into Elrohir's body - his left fist against the small of Elrohir's back and his right into the elf twin's lower abdomen. Momentarily stunned by the shock of it, Elrohir struggled but Faroth brought his left hand up, wrapped it around Elrohir's forehead and pulled him backwards, giving the elf twin a harsh kidney shot of his own. Elrohir backed up, nearly falling backwards if it had not been for his elven balance. Absorbing the pain of the hits he bore back into the fight, smashing his elbow into Faroth's sternum, and then bringing his clenched hand down into a hard hit to the groin, then bringing his elbow up to smash into the chin, snapping the elf's head back. Faroth fell away from him, shaking his head and then found an elven arrow driven straight into his upper chest, catching him completely by surprise and knocking him off his feet.

Árë had been taken care of by Legolas in Elrohir's focus on Faroth. When Faroth and Elrohir had begun their fight Árë had turned around to deal with the other intruder. Unsheathing a long knife from his hip the elf rushed toward the archer. In too close quarters Legolas had to drop his bow and produced the knife Arwen had given to him, meeting Árë in the middle. The blades crashed, broke apart, and then crashed again. Árë stepped closer and slashed his blade across Legolas' face, lightly cutting across the prince's left cheek. They broke apart again. Legolas could feel blood on his face but ignored it, rushing Árë suddenly as he transferred his knife to his left hand. When the knives made contact again, Legolas threw his attacker's blade away to the left and stepped closer, driving his right fist into Árë's stomach. As Árë arched forward into Legolas, the prince brought his knee up with such force into Árë's face that he broke the elf's nose, then as Árë fell forward Legolas helped him in his descent, the archer's left elbow making contact in the middle of the other's back, knocking Árë to the ground. As Árë attempted to rise Legolas picked up his fallen bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, aiming and firing the projectile into Árë's shoulder. Halfway to his feet, Árë cried out softly and froze as Legolas inserted another arrow on the bowstring, aiming first at him, then shifting the direction the arrowhead pointed and releasing it to where Elrohir and Faroth had been fighting.

Removing another arrow from the quiver, Legolas again settled his gaze to Árë, who was still quite able to fight despite the arrow in his shoulder and the blood flowing from his nose. Legolas' cheek was still bleeding from the four-inch long surface tear that Árë had dealt him and his leg shook slightly under the strain of his actions, but the archer didn't even twitch as he sighted in on the arrow.

"If you value your life at all, get back on the floor," Legolas hissed dangerously at Árë, his eyes filled with no lie. "NOW!"

Árë did as instructed, glowering at the archer but did not get back up from the ground. Caught off guard and not nearly as talented as the Mirkwood prince, he was outmatched and he knew it. Árë was far younger than Legolas and it never showed as obviously as now.

Neither guard was dead, but Legolas and Elrohir did not pursue the matter. Those two guards were not their prime targets. The elf still inside the room however, was.

Legolas entered the room first, his bow trained on Ralorn while Elrohir ran to assist his twin. Helping Elladan to his feet, Elrohir kept a firm hold on him. Separated and nearly killed, he wasn't about to let go of the person he was the closest to.

Elladan had not been badly injured, but his injuries brought some cause of alarm and it slowed the elder twin up a bit. He too had been put up in the ceiling restraints and had been battered around cruelly, but Elladan had a very thick hide and his eyes still burned much fire. It had given him quite an advantage to take his mind away. Legolas walked right up to Ralorn, sighting in the arrow in between the dark elf's eyes.

Ralorn stopped moving. Why was the prince free? How had he escaped and overpowered Mayroniel and the others? Out the door he could see his fallen guards, not dead but most definitely lost now. He could not help them. He turned wild, hate filled eyes on the elf prince who had so suddenly destroyed everything. He had lost. Everything he had worked so hard for was draining away in front of his eyes.

"I should kill you right here and now," Legolas' voice was dark and livid. Only his loyalty to Estel stayed the rage in his hands, begging him to let go of the arrow. "But at the request of another I am bound to let you live. But understand this Ralorn. Your oppression has ended."

The wild look in Ralorn's eyes faded. His face became impassive, calm, cold.

"Kill me," he whispered, his voice low but fierce.

"I will not," Legolas did not let the bow drop, nor did the arrow lower from the target the prince had set, but Legolas spoke true – he meant what he said.

"I will not be taken prisoner. I will not live behind bars." Ralorn's eyes flashed at the thought. He had lost everything; he would not suffer the rest of his life with that punching him in the face every morning. "There is nothing for me here any longer. Kill me!"

"I made a promise, and I will not go back on my word." Legolas locked his gaze with the dark elf's, but he was unprepared for what Ralorn said next.

"My life has been nothing but darkness," the elf whispered, imploring the prince, who had once been his prisoner, to end his life. "Just kill me. Kill me now."

The prolonged tension began to make Legolas' hands shake as he continued to hold the bow up. The prince was trying so hard to remain as impassive as Ralorn ever was, but all that he knew of this elf crashed into him at once and Legolas found he could not kill the elf, even if he had not been bound by any vow.

"I will not!" Legolas eased the tension of the bow and let it drop to his side. He had told himself so many times that he would voluntarily take Ralorn's life himself after so much hurt, but now faced with the opportunity, he found he just couldn't.

Elrohir and Elladan stood slowly behind the elf prince. Elladan kept one arm wrapped around his twin's neck so that he would not fall, and Elrohir held him up strongly. They silently watched Legolas take control of the situation, their ire just as strong as the prince's, yet not quite understanding why the prince was allowing Ralorn to live.

That thought was quickly torn away, as a new threat rose to greet them all.

They all felt it. After two in the past two days, it came as both an expectance and a surprise. The elves felt it a split second before it happened, the earth groaning beneath their feet, like a deep breath of wind before the first wave of a storm... and it began, twice as harsh as the last earthquake, twice as deadly. The earth around them violently twisted in full tilt.

"Elrohir!" Legolas yelled as he leapt forward, catching Ralorn in a fast grip and twisting the elf's right arm behind his back, guiding the other forward and out of the cavern room. "We need to get out of here fast!"

"The cave is too unstable!" Ralorn surprisingly spoke, attempting to look behind at the prince as Legolas shoved him out of the room. "We can't reach the entrance fast enough. We'll be trapped in here!"

"Shut up!" Legolas growled at him. The rumbling earth was rising in violent intensity with breath-taking speed, nearly knocking them off their feet. True to his word, the lower parts of the cave were crumbling under the force of the earthquake. Ralorn was right. In moments they would be overcome.

"Elrohir, follow me! There is another way to get out!" Legolas bodily forced Ralorn out into the hallway, half walking, half sliding to the only room with a door. Yes, there was another way out, one that only Legolas knew of in this group. Elrohir kept a firm grip on Elladan as he followed the prince out of the room and down to another. If they could make it fast enough, there was a chance they could survive.

§§§

The air was crisp and cool, refreshed by the heavy rain of the previous night. Unlike out in the open however, the interior of the hollow as comfortably warm, aided by the bodies of five beings and a well kept fire long since built in the early hours of the morning.

Asfaloth gently whiffed at Arwen's hair, nudging her head in the silent plea to be talked to and held. Willingly Arwen raised her arms and softly stroked the stallion's great forehead. She needed it, more so than the horse did. Still hurt and upset at the circumstances she had been left in, it was going to take her some time before she could feel at all stable.

Now that Aragorn was safe, Arwen felt a new fear rising within her and it was one she did not take any pleasure in. Now her older brothers were trapped. The twins, whom she loved more dearly than life, were being threatened to give everything they could, including their lives. Desperately afraid for them and forever frustrated with her current position, the young elf maiden could find little reprieve from her thoughts.

She couldn't just sit here. She was as protective, high-minded, and thick-skulled when it came to someone advising her about her family as her brothers were. There had to be something she could do. It couldn't be the end of the story for her, the last mark of her part in the tale made in this hollow. She wouldn't let it end this way. If the twins were to die, it would not be because she was sitting here, waiting for them to return. Mind made up, Arwen stood and walked next to Aragorn's side. Still very weak but rapidly regaining strength now that the herbs she and Legolas had been giving him were taking effect, as well as being aided by the strong Númenorean blood of his family, the ranger was awake and feeling slightly more alive. He was well on his way to healing his physical injuries.

"Estel," she whispered as she again knelt by his side, reaching forward and hesitantly touching the side of his face as she spoke. The fear had not yet left her, but gradually she was beginning to move past the pain of it. She smiled as Aragorn turned his gaze to her and gave her a small grin.

"Are we going after them yet?" Aragorn said softly, his eyes reclaiming a shred of their light at the thought. Legolas had not yet been gone fifteen minutes, but he knew Arwen's heart would not allow her to remain behind, for he felt the same in spite of his condition.

Arwen laughed lightly at his bold question, knowing all too well that he knew what was in her heart. "Yes, Estel, I wish to follow them."

Aragorn rotated his body stiffly, subconsciously attempting to sit up but finding that his injuries would not allow this. He settled back down again with a sigh. "I'm impressed you waited this long, my lady. I would not have."

Arwen shook her head and smiled at the praise. "Do you think you can sit on Asfaloth with me? I do not feel it would be wise for you to ride alone yet."

"If it means moving-" Aragorn said with a slight pull in his voice, absorbing the pain of his body and pressing it from his mind. There would be another time and place to deal with that, but now was not then. He wanted to keep moving, no matter the cost. "I will not object."

"Good. Silme can follow us and Celebnar as well. If we hurry, we won't be too far behind Legolas when we reach the cave."

At the sound of their names, Silme and Celebnar looked up at the elf-maiden expectantly. Celebnar gently flew from his place on Silme's back and landed right near Aragorn's side, chirping softly. He was still wary of these two beings for they were not the master he had claimed, yet still they treated him and each other with utmost kindness and he was fast losing any fear of them.

Aragorn looked down at the falcon and chuckled at the sight, a sound much like a deep inconsistent hum. "Legolas told me about him. Leave it to the wood-elf to make friends with a bird and bring him along..."

Arwen would have smacked the ranger playfully for his taunt if not for the notion of how painful that would have been for the man. "Estel, behave, or I'll leave you behind." Her voice was serious but her eyes twinkled.

Aragorn wisely decided to shut his mouth, even though he knew she was jesting only.

Arwen gently helped the man rise to a sitting position, careful of his torn shoulders and the wounds on his back. However, before he was even ten inches off the ground Aragorn cried out without any of his mind's consent. His tailbone screamed and an even deeper ache returned; one Aragorn was powerless to push through no matter how hard he tried.

Arwen immediately laid the ranger back down, gripping his hand tightly and soothing him with her voice as his face contorted and his breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling irregularly in the attempt to regain control. Moments passed and gradually so did the pain, ebbing out of his mind as pain does but never fully, always in the center of his thoughts.

As soon as he could speak again, Aragorn looked up at Arwen with a rather fierce look in his eyes. "Don't leave me behind," he whispered at her desperately. "Please don't leave me behind."

She looked quite concerned, biting her lip. "Estel, I don't think it's safe for you-"

"No!" Aragorn shook his head vigorously. "It can be no other way."

Arwen hesitated, unsure.

"I can't let you go alone," the ranger pleaded.

In reality, that was not what he feared the most. He feared what would happen without his knowledge, and he feared being left alone. More than anything else that was his fear, and it had been harder on him to let Legolas leave, for his hold on his friend had become very strong.

Arwen knew not of this and she could not read the man as easily as her family could, having only been around the man a few times and only recently discovering strange stirs within her heart whenever she was near him. Though she feared for the man's health, Arwen could decipher some of the emotion that raged behind a veil in the man's eyes. She knew leaving him behind could end up turning deadly in his favor.

Nodding slowly, she responded to his wish, though her voice was heavy with distress. "All right."

Calling Asfaloth closer, Arwen gently lifted the man into her arms with some difficulty. Though she was not nearly as strong as Legolas nor built as sturdy, the elf maiden could still summon enough strength and will to make the effort. Her study had not been warfare though at times she had wished for it; she was one of the Eldar, blessed with a vitality that gave her the energy to try. Carefully settling the ranger atop one of the blankets to make his seat more comfortable, she helped him hunch forward enough so that there was no pressure to his tailbone. Once he was stable and Asfaloth still, Arwen gathered anything that had been left out in the hollow, stowing cloaks, blankets, and some herbs into her pack and stamped out the fire, spreading the ashes so it would not re-ignite. Once all had been done, Arwen walked up next to her stallion and gained her seat behind the ranger. Bringing the man up into a more secure position for them both, she gently held him up in her arms as she told Asfaloth to walk. The horse's gait was steady and smooth, attesting to elegance in his step. Arwen was never more happy or proud of him.

Silme followed, trotting for a moment so she could catch up to the stallion's side and walk beside him. Celebnar perched precariously on her neck, his talons woven tightly into her mane and his wings out in the effort to stay upright. He fluttered dangerously, but did not fall or give up and fly. This time, he wanted to stay with the group.

Aragorn winced gently at the pain of his hurts, heightened now that he was in motion but never did he allow the full look of pain enter his eyes. Arwen was not nearly as stubborn as his brothers, father, or best friend, and he wasn't about to let her start that familiar trend yet. He throbbed more than words could say, but there was no way he was going to let that stop him. His deep concern for his brothers and Legolas ran deeper than his pain.

Some distance from the hollow, Aragorn glanced up at Arwen and gave her a small smile, his voice becoming wistful and distant. "Elladan and Elrohir found me over twenty-five years ago and claimed me as their own; Legolas saved my life after I fell out of a tall tree, poisoned and injured. They have been my idols and protectors for many years, been there in times of weakness and strength... but I want to thank you for taking up their burden... for being my hero today."

Arwen was silent for a long time, but it was not uncomfortable. Aragorn kept his eyes roving from the ground to the forest ahead, watching and listening. It was peaceful, the sky opening slowly to a brilliant shade of blue. The air was fresh and the breeze gentle. If there was not such a weight of worry and fear shadowing his heart, Aragorn would have greatly enjoyed the stillness of the morning.

"Estel," Arwen smiled, although the ranger could not see it. "They discovered a hero in you long before you found one in them. If it had not been for you, they would have not found the strength to move on."

"Move on to what?"

"Rediscovering hope," whispered the she elf as her arms tightened almost inperceptively around the man.

Aragorn was silent now, pondering. As he felt the gentle, consistent rocking motion of the stallion beneath him and touch of the wind as it blew through the trees, he wished he was not worth so much to his brothers and friend and often wondered why he was. Inside he knew he would risk the same sacrifices for them, but he still felt his life did not outweigh theirs and feared deeply every time they were put on the line.

"They fight for you, Estel." Arwen's voice captured his attention again. "Not because of what your name is, not because of who your father was, but because of who you are. You are so precious to them, you have earned their loyalty, and they fear losing you more than they do losing their own lives."

Aragorn shook his head slightly, looking down at the ground. "I don't even know why..."

There was a calm assurance in Arwen's voice as she spoke next that gently cut off all argument. "I do."

000000000

"Estel?"

Aragorn shook his head wearily. Valar, this was hard. His mind had woven in and out of consciousness during the ride back to the cave, his heart growing steadily heavier as they got closer. It had been long since he had spoken to Arwen, his body failing him slowly again.

"Estel?"

Aragorn rose up from the relaxed position he had slowly found himself in, nearly too fast. Arwen caught him by the shoulders before he could go too far, holding him steady until the man woke up entirely. The ranger looked back up at Arwen, his eyes slightly glazed with pain and weariness.

Arwen nodded only when she saw the man was awake, showing she needed no conformation that he was awake now. "We are here," she whispered softly, carefully gauging his reaction.

Aragorn shut his eyes and tensed. He did not want to be here. Only for his family could he find the strength to come back, but that did not outweigh the intensity of the hate and fear he held for this place. He turned his head and cracked his eyes open, searching for the entrance. Several hundred feet away, he found it. The scar. The very sight of it was terrifying. He resisted the urge to shudder and back away.

"I'm going to dismount, hold on for a moment and then I'll help you down." Arwen said softly to him. Aragorn was in too much pain and emotional torment to object. At the moment, he just didn't care.

Arwen slid off Asfaloth's back and quickly unclasped her cloak, spreading it over the ground. Aragorn slid slowly off of the stallion's back, caught before he hit the ground in Arwen's strong grip. She settled him down on his stomach over the cloak, and said nothing when Aragorn turned his head away from the direction of the cave. She wanted to ask him if he was all right, ask him what was wrong, but she already knew the answers to both, it was worthless to even think about it.

Perhaps it was a mistake to bring him here. Arwen knew she would not have been able to leave the man in the cave, but maybe that would have been the wiser course of action. Coming back had had no positive effect on Aragorn. Rather, it seemed to be sucking the strength he had barely gained.

"Estel..." she whispered again, touching his head gently. When he looked up at her, she attempted to reason with him. "I don't know if-"

She glanced up a moment and froze, her eyes growing wide.

"Arwen?" Aragorn quickly observed her facial expression. It was not good.

Arwen dove down to the ground, partially shielding Aragorn's body with her own. There was a deep groan within her body that Aragorn felt, and his heart began to hammer.

"Estel, don't... move," she whispered. Pulling her left leg slowly up, she reached into it and withdrew a short single-edged knife. Holding it fast in her grip, she looked the ranger directly in the eyes.

"Mayroniel is coming."


	14. Remember Who You Are?

Chapter 13

**Remember Who You Are?**

Like a phantom, he pulled himself forward in a hunchback form. One arm was wrapped around the gold and black of an arrow shaft sticking out of his side, a wound that was going to take the last of his strength and life in minutes. Only the endurance of his race had kept him alive this long. Mayroniel struggled forward, a maddening rage in his eyes. In his hands he held Legolas' bow and quiver, taken from the cave to serve his last desire.

He was going to find that human, and kill him. Shoot him down with his own friend's weapon. The satisfaction and irony the situation would give him gave the mad elf the desire to try. He would hunt that whelp of a ranger down and throttle the last of the life out of his pathetic body.

His mind gave no room for any logic. For all he knew, the man he knew only as Strider was miles away, far from his reach. But Mayroniel didn't care. He staggered out of the cave, literally breathing like a dragon and sounded little better. He was a dark assassin, and right now he wanted blood.

Far-seeing, blood-curdling eyes found a source of contention outside of the cave, some distance away. Whether it was an illusion created from his mind or the real thing, Mayroniel pulled out an arrow and prepared to notch it, rushing toward his make-believe reality with the last of his strength. Two beings and two horses stood quietly underneath the distant trees, probably planning some attack.

There was the human. Still down, still defenseless. The dark assassin relished in the thought of the ranger's dying scream. There was another being, one Mayroniel recognized all too well. That liar and deceiver Arahil was here too. He rushed as fast as he could, clumsily sighting in on the arrow with wavering eyesight, releasing the arrow.

He watched Arahil's eyes grow wide as he realized where the arrow was headed. With a speed only an elf could possess he raced forward and covered the man's prone body against Mayroniel with his own, taking the arrow himself. Since Mayroniel no longer had the strength nor the accuracy of a healthy, strong elf, his power and aim had suffered, but not enough. The arrow slammed into Arwen's lower shoulder, knocking her off balance. She fell heavily on the ground, cracking her head on a rock and succumbing to unwanted darkness.

'_Fool,'_ he thought, glaring at the girl. _'Arahil's really a woman. He told me, he told me his real name.'_

"Filth," he hissed at Arwen's unmoving form before turning his attention to the man on the ground, looking up at him with a gaze of unmasked terror. The fear fed his rage. Dropping the bow next to the man, Mayroniel prepared to lay out all the fury he could bear on the man, offering no release or mercy, and the ranger could offer no real resistance even if it meant his life.

His hands closed around the helpless ranger's throat, forcing his thumbs into the man's windpipe. Strider was struggling madly against him, chocking from lack of air. Mayroniel's eyes were incensed and deadly maddening. Forget the bow. He was going to cut the man of life itself, by slowly feeling the man's spirit leave him. He bore down harder, watching the face in front of him color blue, starved already for oxygen.

But before his revenge was complete, the earth began to rumble. Blood-crazed as he was, Mayroniel didn't notice it until it was too late. Nor did he notice another threat that came after him much faster.

Sharp hooves slammed into his head, throwing the unsuspecting elf back three feet, releasing his hold on the injured ranger. Mayroniel's vision swam, and his hearing wavered. He barely made out the high-pitched scream of a horse, and a flash of whitish-grey passed before his eyes. A deep, guttural rumbling from one animal warned him of the beast's terrifying anger.

Then, his world went black. His skull was crushed, only moments of life were left. Caught in the beginning of a growing earthquake, Mayroniel could feel the earth toss and churn like a wave on the sea, over and over. In seconds the ground underneath his broken body fell away and took him down into nothingness, landing sharply farther down the mountain. Something heavy landed on top of him, then rolled off and away. The haze in his mind was almost complete, until something large and crushingly heavy landed on him, cutting not only his comprehension of what was happening but his life. The dark assassin, who had been Ralorn's most trusted companion and the harshest tormenter of Aragorn was gone.

§§§

Aragorn was fully awake when Mayroniel attacked them. He watched the cold assassin shoot Arwen down and then come after him, coming within half a second of making the man black out entirely. If it had not been for Asfaloth's valiant rescue, he wouldn't have made it. Mayroniel would have killed him.

He had remained lucid during the beginning of the earthquake, felt the earth roll and rumble like some angry beast below the surface was punching the top, trying to fight his way out. He felt the time when the ground beneath him fell away, freefalling for several feet in a breath and landing hard on Mayroniel's lifeless body, rolling away under the inertia he had built up during the fall.

As soon as he stopped rolling, he looked back. Aragorn watched the large, heavy tree trunk fall right onto Mayroniel's defenseless body, crushing him. The assassin was dead.

The world stilled after that. Once again the ground ceased all movement, the danger passing. But the damage was catastrophic.

Aragorn, Arwen, Asfaloth, and Silme had been so blessed – they had been close enough to the cave and the majority of the trees were now behind them. Any farther into the forest would have meant death. Few trees stood now. Most had been cracked and shattered, falling to the ground and mixing with tossed earth. Dust and debris filled the air.

Asfaloth and Silme had managed not to fall when a section of the earth broke away, instead making slow, tedious tracks to more open ground. Celebnar stayed with them. Both Aragorn and Arwen however, had not been so lucky. Stuck on the shifting ground, neither of them could react when the earth broke away. They had both fallen several feet down to a lower natural shelf on the mountain side, unable to make it back up without help. They were trapped.

The ranger rolled over onto his back, staring up into the sky and attempting not to breathe in too deeply, for too much dust would certainly choke him. Surprisingly, he was almost unharmed from the earthquake. Mayroniel had broken his fall, saving him from much worse damage. Other than a few new bruises and minor cuts, his shaken up body had little to really account for. Now much stronger than the previous night when even twitching had ached, Aragorn was healing quite well given the circumstances. The fire of his torn shoulder muscles had calmed under the herbs Arwen had given him consistently and he could now move his arms. He couldn't raise his arms very far over his head - the splints restrained him from going too far - but he could slowly complete small actions with his hands. He could even go as far as pulling himself along with his arms, though not far. His legs and tailbone had not healed enough to help him crawl along, much less walk. Judging by the severity of his wounds, Aragorn guessed he wouldn't be able to support his own weight for almost a week, and the thought frustrated him.

It did however, hurt to breathe. The filth in the air burned his lungs. Slowly, the ranger pulled up the hem of his tunic and tore a piece of it away, placing the fabric over his mouth and nose. After a few moments and several breaths later, he could breathe easier.

Holding the cloth over the lower half of his face, Aragorn sat up a little and looked around, trying to register and assess where he was. He was stuck on a low, natural mountain shelf about fifteen feet long and seven feet wide from the side of the mountain. He had been saved by a small rocky lip over his head of any falling trees and rocks. Two feet away was a huge tree trunk, broken up and ground deeply into the ground. Underneath it, the ranger could barely make out one arm and one leg. It took him a moment to realize who it was, and relief flowed through him when he knew the truth. Mayroniel was finally gone; he could hurt no one any longer. Aragorn avoided looking at the assassin's body for long. The memories were just too strong.

Looking in the other direction did not bring the relief Aragorn would have hoped for. A short distance away Aragorn discovered another unmoving body. He froze.

It was Arwen.

When Mayroniel had shot his bow, Arwen had been knocked backwards and slammed her head into the rocks. She was unconscious. Sometime in the fall or the earthquake the arrow had broken in half – the arrow tip still driven four inches into her shoulder, the other half no where to be seen. She lay, doubled up and still, almost ten feet away from where Aragorn had stopped moving.

Aragorn rushed in her direction almost immediately. He pulled his body forward with his arms, ignoring the burning fire that spread from his shoulders. Still unable to use his knees much – his tailbone prevented that as of yet – he could not crawl. By the time he reached the elf-maiden's side he was almost out of breath, clutching his torn piece of fabric to his mouth painfully for a few moments until he had again regained control.

When he could find the strength to use his hands again, the man quickly assessed the injuries Arwen had taken. The arrow had not been shot properly – Mayroniel's madness had altered the skill and strength it took to drive an arrow in deadly and deep. It had pierced no vital organs, touched little bone. It was bleeding though, it needed to be staunched and cared for properly as quickly as possible.

Quickly and carefully, Aragorn checked the elf maiden's vitals. Her eyes were dilated. She had landed on her right arm in the fall, the broken bone nearly breaking the skin. Her ribcage was badly bruised, though there were no broken bones. She had more bruises on her legs from the landing, but other than that she had no more serious injuries. The bump on the head caused Aragorn more concern than the rest though. If it wasn't taken care of quickly, it could turn deadly. Slowly and carefully, he shifted Arwen's body into a more comfortable position, one in which she could breathe easier.

Aragorn looked up through the broken rubble of the mountain side, searching. The earthquake had destroyed so much. It was a miracle they had even survived, even if they had been harmed.

Arwen had still not yet woken. If she stayed unconscious too long, she could slip into a coma and die.

Aragorn wished for the strength to pull the arrow out of her, but he couldn't. As he lay on the ground the ranger cursed his unbearable weakness. Giving in to the will of his body, Aragorn again lay down on the ground next to Arwen's unconscious form and again checked her vitals. She was breathing easier and her pulse had calmed, but her eyes were still a little dilated and she gave no sign that she was going to wake. Nothing the man did had any effect on her. To do anything more drastic would require strength Aragorn just didn't have.

Placing one arm over Arwen's back to better monitor her breathing, Aragorn again took a glance around. Mayroniel's motionless form remained trapped underneath the tree close by. Aragorn winced at the sight of the body of his tormentor, his heart warring within him. He turned away from Mayroniel. He looked for anything else around, but could find nothing amiss. No sound came from above or below, but that could have been due to his weakened state.

Wearily, his head sunk to the ground.

§§§

Legolas tore into the wall with a vengeance, throwing aside the wooden planks he had removed and exposing the escape route he and Aragorn had used. Once the pathway had been revealed, he turned to the others. Elladan and Elrohir looked impressed, Ralorn looked surprised.

"Come quickly!" Legolas motioned the twins through first. The earth was twisting violently beneath their feet and the cave was collapsing. If they didn't get out in about ten seconds there would be no getting out. "Hurry!"

Elrohir lead his twin forward and let Elladan go first. Much stronger and far better off than Aragorn had been, Elladan struggled through the man-hole quickly and broke through to the outside, Elrohir right at his heels. They were safe.

Before following them, Legolas looked briefly at Ralorn. "I'm going through first. Follow if you wish." And he too was gone, disappearing into the makeshift pathway to the sunlight outside.

Surprisingly, Ralorn did not hesitate. He too crawled head first into the small tunnel. He, like the others, barely fit through. But they were safe on the other side. The ground behind them was churning madly, the instability of the cave's tunnels giving in to the stronger force of Mother Nature. The ground collapsed, much off the side of the mountain falling in on itself. The elves jumped away from the falling earth as it caved in, narrowly avoiding being pulled in as well.

As the rumbling began to fade, so did the earthquake. Even though it hadn't even lasted a minute, it felt like forever. Fresh cascades of dust filled the air as the world stilled once more. For several moments the sky was thick and heavy with debris. Legolas, Elrohir, and Elladan covered their noses and mouths with their sleeves, trying to avoid breathing in too much.

It was then that Ralorn tried to escape them.

Backing away slowly, Ralorn darted back to where the cave had once stood, hidden and secluded in this part of Middle Earth. The ground shifted uneasily under his feet, still so unstable even under his light tread. Some twenty feet away from where the others were, Ralorn fell to his knees.

All his men, the ever loyal and strong members of the guard that had followed him for countless years, were gone. Dead. Left to rot underneath the surface until the end of time, buried by the earth itself. They had trusted him, helped him, and supported his deepest desires without hesitation. And now they were gone.

Ralorn shook his head miserably. It should have been him. He should have died too. Why had he not died too? He should have. He could not live knowing that he had failed, and that the lives of four elves and five horses on his head because of it. He should have died with them, fighting. But he had not. He had stood there, let it happen. He didn't even know why he had allowed himself to be caught. He had just stood there... and let the immortal lives die.

Defeated, he buried his hands into the soil and crushed the clumps in his grip. Anger and despair filled his entire being. He had lost everything that had ever meant anything to him... all because of a stupid mistake on a dark night in Rivendell. His life, along with so many others, had been destroyed.

A strong hand suddenly wrapped itself around his arm, pulling him to his feet. Ralorn did not turn, did not react. He knew who it was. Like a man before his execution, he just stood there feeling as though there was nothing left, not in this world or the next.

"Come," a voice said, belonging to the one who held him firm. "We must return quickly to find the others."

Grey clouds misted around him, slowly, gently, thinning away to nothing. And carried in the invisible trails were the final traces of his resistance, of his instinct for survival. He let the others lead him away. The hate, the fierceness, the desire to gain all he had ever cared about had died.

He didn't care anymore.

§§§

The man had no idea how much time had passed before he was roughly jerked awake. Arwen shifted under his arm. She was finally waking up.

"Arwen?" Aragorn watched her twist away from him, but she looked awake and alive. Wincing, she quickly stopped moving.

"Estel?" she whispered, reaching one hand toward the arrow shaft in her back, her vision wavering slightly. "What happened?"

Aragorn slumped back to the ground, shaking his head. "Don't ask."

The air was thick with a strange, dust filled fog. Gentle mountain winds carried the wide obstruction, but as of yet it was too full to see through properly. Occasionally Aragorn could catch snatches of the mountainside, both above and below, but often he could only make out the ledge they were trapped on and Arwen's injured form next to him. Struggling to ignore the biting pain of his wounds, Aragorn carefully rolled the elf maiden on her side where she would be more comfortable. She hissed and cried out as her ribcage and broken arm were jostled.

"Arwen, what is wrong?" Aragorn pressed his palm to her forehead in search of fever signs and locked his eyes with her. She was favoring one arm and had curled the other around one side.

"Ribs," she whispered harshly, struggling to control the spasms in her jarred bones. "Arm."

"It's all right, you bruised some of the ribs on your side and your arm is broken..." Aragorn reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. Arwen's eyes were filled with pain, but her eyes were no longer dilated and the ranger took that as a good sign. "It's the bump on your head that concerns me more. Just lie still and it'll be all right."

Arwen clutched her wounded shoulder with her good hand, the bite of the arrow and the fractured bones making her face clench and twist painfully. Aragorn kept up a steady flow of conversation with his hands on her head, distracting her in the only way he could until she stilled.

"I wish I could help you..." he said at one point, hurting that she was hurting.

Arwen would have none of it, despite the fact that she was in a lot of pain. "You already are. Here, help me sit up and keep talking."

When she was upright on her knees, Arwen brushed her hair back more with her good hand, sucking in her breath at the warnings of her body. Aragorn made it about half way before he had to stop, leaning heavily over his knees.

"What a sight we make," Arwen whispered with no hint of sarcasm. She was smiling a little though. Through the foggy air, she thought she heard a small cry from above their heads and glanced up. It did no good though. She could see more than the ranger could, but her senses were still catching up with her body and she could find nothing amiss. "But we made it. We're alive."

"I don't know about you, but my body's completely comatose." Aragorn leaned his head into one hand. "All that could wake it up now would be-"

"ESTEL!"

A familiar voice came floating down from higher up on the mountain. Both Arwen and Aragorn jumped and looked up at the faint outlines of their intruder, just distinguishable several feet over their heads through the debris.

"-my brothers..." the ranger's voice trailed off as he finished his sentence. "Elladan?" he called back up softly, not sure he should believe.

Both Elladan and Elrohir were staring down at them. "Arwen!" they called, their identical voices quite literally the sweetest thing they had heard all day. "Estel!"

"Elrohir! Elladan!" Arwen called up to them, attempting to rise to her knees but failing, ignoring her injuries though they gave her great trouble and pain. "We're down here!"

"Hang on! We'll get you back up, just hang on!" both twins disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a length of rope between them, throwing it down. "Here! Use this one at a time and we'll pull you up!"

Arwen caught the rope as it slammed into the mountain wall over her head. It was long enough, with plenty of give left to harness a body securely. "Come on, Estel," she said gently, helping the man come closer. She winced and moaned gently, holding her ribcage, but refused any attempt of help Aragorn made. "You first."

She effectively harnessed the man one handed despite her bruised ribcage and broken arm and the twins pulled him up. In reality they had only fallen about fifteen feet in the earthquake, but in the current situation with them both injured, no one was taking any chances. Aragorn groaned as the rope tightened around his legs and back, chaffing his wounds. Gritting his teeth and gripping the rope in both hands, he held his breath until the twins had gotten him to the top.

As soon as he was within reach, Elrohir reached forward and caught the man by his tunic, then his waist. Unsure of what injuries the man had taken, the younger twin wasn't going to cause the ranger any more pain then was necessary. When he was safe though, both the twins took the moment to embrace him at once.

The ranger could feel their restrained sobs as they held him, voices whispering barely understood apologies. He shushed them gently, directing Elladan back to his sister but he could not get rid of Elrohir. Nor did he want to. The younger twin pulled the ranger into his arms, burying his face in the man's long, unkempt hair.

"Estel, I feared you had died... forgive me please..." caught in the sudden memory of Estel's broken, beaten body in the cave, Elrohir couldn't let it go.

"Shh, Elrohir. Be at ease; you did no wrong." Aragorn leaned lightly into his older brother's embrace, tense with pain and even a bit of fear and doubt but he wanted so much to be held. Elrohir continued to rock him softly. Leaning on his side with his head against Elrohir's shoulder, Aragorn shut his eyes and his mind slowly faded. Overwrought with so many emotions and the sudden relief of being safe again, Aragorn found he could finally let go. Secure in Elrohir's embrace, the man fell into a deep sleep.

_Aragorn clutched something tightly in both hands. He could see nothing, the air around him thick with darkness – chilly, dark, and cold. If not for the small treasure in his hands he would have given into despair._

_When he was certain he was alone, the ranger carefully opened his hands and let a bright light emit from his palms. It was a star. The light that came from it was so bright and pure that it broke through the darkness that threatened, bringing to life a beautiful world around him. The ranger finally smiled, and holding the little star close began walking._

_Several times, he met up with dark voids on his path. Some threatened more than others, attempting to take away his beautiful light. Always he fought the voids, fearful to loose that which was most precious to him. Sometimes he won, sometimes he failed. When he could not fight the void alone, the light would fail and would be lost, and he was left in darkness and in doubt. The ranger would search desperately, needing the star as his hold to life itself._

_But somehow, he always found it again. Whether on his own or through the actions of another, he would find the star. And every time he and the light reunited, the star was different – changed. The hue may have taken another color of the sky, or it would sparkle instead of shimmer. But when the star was back in the hands of its owner, it would brighten and shine forth more, as though happy to be back in the hands of the ranger... where it belonged. Renewed, it would blaze, its light more dazzling than before._

_Yet now the light of his world had faded. Something had happened to the star. And though the ranger could sense he was surrounded by those who truly cared, by family, he could not find it. His own light. In the battle he had fought, it again had been lost. Only this time, Estel could not find it, and no other knew where to look, hardly even realizing that it was gone..._

"Please," Aragorn whispered in his half-asleep stupor, unseeing eyes opening to look up at the sky. "Where is it? Where is it now?"

Elrohir knelt next to his side and placed one hand on the ranger's forehead, speaking gently to the man still caught in his dream. "Where is what, Estel? What are you looking for?"

"It is gone," the ranger said in a hushed, heavy breath; his eyes growing glassy in mourning. "I cannot find it. It is gone."

§§§

Anyone who looked at the elf lord could tell he was distracted. He had been staring at the same page in his book for over twenty minutes, read the same page over ten times. His mind was so far away.

Every night he dreamed of his missing sons. Every time he saw them they were hurting. He didn't know if they were really real or awakenings of his worst fears of seeing his children in pain, but it mattered not. Of one thing he was certain. They were in trouble and he could not reach them.

Understandably when a servant entered the room five minutes later and addressed the elf lord, Elrond jumped about five feet.

"Forgive me, my lord Elrond," the servant apologized as Elrond regained his composure and his pulse. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"Worry not," Elrond breathed, running a hand through his loose hair and pushing it back. "I'm just not paying attention today."

Who was he kidding? He hadn't been paying attention to anything since Elladan and Elrohir had left with the strict instruction that their father was not to follow or send anyone unless they called for it themselves. The restriction was playing on his nerves more than he wanted to admit.

Elrond brushed a hand over his face. "Do you come with a specific purpose?" he asked wearily.

"Ai, my lord. I bring you news – word of your sons."

"My sons?" Elrond turned sharply in his chair, fully facing the younger elf as he shoved his book aside and stood. "Speak on, and with haste!"

"A day past the warriors on the northern borders came across a young human boy riding a large copper colored stallion. Both were injured and quite worn, but the watchmen helped them. The boy... he has word of a man named Strider and he is searching for you. He was brought to the palace just now, I was sent to find you."

"Where is he?" Elrond swiftly followed the servant at the young elf retreated from the room.

"He has been taken to the healing wing under the instruction of the captain who found him," the elf continued as they walked down the hallway toward the wing reserved for the sick and afflicted. "The stallion is young Estel's horse, Tole, though we do not understand how or why the two became traveling companions. We can discover nothing else from him other than what I have told you, more information will require your presence."

"Thank you," Elrond thanked the servant and bid the elf farewell when they reached the appropriate door. The young elf bowed respectively and left.

Elrond entered the room and discovered it to be filled with four beings, one of whom he did not recognize. Two healers and a warrior stood around a bed that was now occupied by a very ill looking and injured young boy. Barely fifteen by the look of him, Elrond decided, and obviously quite scared.

The warrior turned around and greeted Elrond first as the elf lord stepped through the door. "My lord."

"Glorfindel!" Elrond walked up next to the elf he knew as a warrior and a friend. "What has happened?"

"Only you can answer that." Glorfindel gestured toward the young man, still a child in many ways, who lay on the bed. The young one's eyes were moving almost franticly as he listened to yet another new elvish voice. "He is insistent to speak to you. He will have no other carry the knowledge he has. He knows about young Estel."

"Thank you, mellon nìn, for bringing him to me."

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but I must return. I only desired to make sure he reached you safely."

"Yes, please, don't let me hold you back. Do not fear any longer, I will care for him."

Glorfindel bowed quickly and left the room. Elrond turned to the healers. "What are his ailments?"

"He suffers from more injury that illness, Lord Elrond. Beaten by the sharpness of the marks, and his left knee has been badly dislocated just recently, though he said it was cared for early after the fact. Aside from the perhaps rather ill from the elements, very malnourished and dehydrated, but he'll live with proper care."

"Thank you, I can take over from here." The healers nodded, gathered up their belongings and left the room as well, leaving Elrond alone with the boy.

Elrond sat down at the edge of the bed and didn't speak for a moment, watching the boy closely. The teenager was clearly frightened and his eyes weren't focusing on anything in the room, although they remained in the direction of the elf lord closely.

"What is your name?" Elrond asked gently, trying to coax the boy into talking and to put him at ease.

"Gowen," the boy said after a moment, his voice shaking but clear.

"Gowen," Elrond repeated, still watching the boy.

"Are you Lord Elrond?" the teenager was still not focusing on the other's face, but he seemed to lock onto the Eldar's voice as if it were the only connection he had to the other. Then it dawned on Elrond - the boy was blind.

"Yes," Elrond said slowly. "I am he. What is it that you wish to tell me, young one? Do not be afraid of me, I want to help you."

"Strider sent me to you," the boy fumbled with a leather thong around his neck as he spoke, his voice ceasing to quiver. "He told me to give you this."

He pulled the leather string over his head with the ring threading it and held it out to the elf lord. A flicker of a memory came to him, one of his own silver-lined walnut shell his father had made for him, now stolen by the guards. Choking back the lump in his throat at the thought, he contented with the thought of being able to keep this keepsake safe for a time. It was worth it when he heard Elrond's surprise at seeing the ring, as clear as Legolas' had been.

"Estel," Elrond whispered, taking the ring and gazing at it in wonder and horror as it glinted in his hand, reflecting his elvish glow gently.

"I think he wanted you to keep it safe for him, since he felt he could not any longer. He called it Bar-... Bara-"

"The ring of Barahir," Elrond said quietly, his hand closing about the ring protectively. "It is an heirloom of his family, and it is precious indeed."

"Will you listen to my story?" Gowen asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I am more than willing. Tell me please, where is my son?"

"I fear it is quite a long tale." Gowen warned wearily. There was much to this story and Gowen wasn't willing to tell it if the elf lord would tire of it too quickly. He needn't have feared any such behavior; the Eldar relieved him of his doubts easily.

Elrond gave the boy a soft smile the lad could not see, but could hear in the other's voice. "Young one, you are talking to an elf. I love long stories."

And so Gowen told him. From the moment he and Strider had met in the wilderness to the time of their separation in front of the cave, the teenager left nothing out. Comforted by the thought of sharing all with Strider's father and the concern he could feel radiating from the elf lord, he could withhold nothing. He told Elrond of Ralorn and his men, of the slave town, Valan, Arahil, the travel through the mountains, the cave and its darkness, all the actions and conversations that he could remember transpiring that involved Elrond's youngest. For nearly two and a half hours Gowen spoke more that he literally had ever spoken in his entire life. Entwined in his story was the voice of his own doubts, fears, and hopes, and from the elf lord he could hear the tremor of reflection that radiated to him as Elrond's own unspoken thoughts.

Elrond was distressed and angered by the story, caught up in the thought of his son, of anyone enduring such pointless suffering. Relieved that Estel was alive but now fearing for his life more fiercely as Gowen told him more and more of Ralorn, he could not admit to nor deny what he felt. The worst of it was that he could do nothing to help. Any service he could have provided would come far too late. Estel's life was now out of his hands and in the capable ones of Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas. They were his only hope, and he prayed desperately to the Valar that they would all make it through.

"Have you heard nothing of my sons, Elladan and Elrohir?" Elrond asked as Gowen drew to a close of his story. The boy had spoken of meeting Legolas, but the fact that the prince and the twins had been separated somehow disturbed him, and Gowen could not answer that question though he wanted to.

"No, I have not. What I heard of them is only found in the stories that Strider told me. Though Legolas mentioned them, I did not meet them on the road." Gowen shook his head. "I had hoped to. I loved Strider's stories of them and I wanted to meet them, but Tole and I did not come within a trace."

Elrond nodded wearily. His heart warred within him, still filled with ache from many long days of waiting, but somehow he was now filled with a calm assurance. "That is ill news, but I no longer feel the desire to worry for them. They know the lands of Rivendell and of the Misty Mountains as well as a favorite book, and I feel strongly that they are alive." Elrond hesitated, but could not deny any of what he felt. "...I know they will be all right."


	15. Holding On, Letting Go

Chapter 14

**Holding On, Letting Go**

Celebnar perched on Legolas' arm, silent and unmoving. Legolas had found a place at the edge of the camp, not far from where they had laid Aragorn and Arwen, and was taking the role as the watchman. The twins kept close to the injured, at the moment refusing to leave their sides. Legolas assumed they could feel guilt as thick as darkness and were trying so hard to make up for the wrongs done to their family.

Arwen was improving very quickly, already attempting to throw the twins out of their mothering. She had already tried to sneak away on Asfaloth, just to ride free again, and nearly gave both her brothers heart attacks. Only with the threat of drugging her did the twins find enough control to keep her where she had been put. At the moment though, she was asleep.

Aragorn had not been as lucky in his hurts, nor as fortunate in his recovery. His body was pulling itself together slowly. His mind was taking longer. Often, he would waken from sleep. Confusing visions and unsettling, frightening memories would yank him away from once pleasant dreams. But it was not his constant waking that concerned Legolas, and the twins for that matter. It was the ranger's ever changing character. There were times when he would accept comfort as if it were the only thing keeping him alive, and other times he would flinch and shy away from any contact whatsoever as though he expected someone to hurt him. The latter was becoming more prevalent, ever since Ralorn had come into their midst. Aragorn had not yet laid eyes on the elf, but somehow, his mind could sense he was there and reacted accordingly. It was going to take a bit of time before Aragorn would be able to face his oppressor.

Celebnar ruffled his feathers and let loose a small whisper of a caw, reclaiming the elven prince's attention. Legolas looked at him and smiled, stroking the falcon gently. They had bonded rather quickly over the past few days. Celebnar was indignant to remain at Legolas' side now. It had been a hard lesson and there was no way the falcon was going to allow the wood-elf out of his sight again. He chirped gently, playfully nipping at Legolas' fingers.

The prince's attention however, was quickly drawn to another being in the clearing; a forlorn, still figure that had been bound to a tree at the opposite edge of camp. Ralorn had not moved or spoken since Elladan and Elrohir had secured him. He had been bound firmly but not painfully, elven rope twining around his body and hands so that he could move his arms if he so wished, but could not undo the knots or stand. Under constant watch, he wouldn't be going anywhere tonight.

It was late afternoon, the sky a blue-gold color, and they were some distance from the collapsed cave. The earth here was in less disarray, but there was evidence of the last earthquake. Yet here, they felt safe. Away from the unpredictable patterns of Mother Nature and her ways, away from the worst danger the elements could release. Roughly four days from Ilmgalad, the twins had expressed a desire to return home as quickly as possible. Legolas was in agreement. The injured were willing. Ralorn however, offered no opinion or desire. It was however obvious that he did not want to return to Rivendell.

Celebnar lightly leapt off Legolas' arm, calling out in a long, high pitched note as he flew steadily in a consistent direction. In a moment's glance Legolas discovered the source that had captured the falcon's attention. In a short chase and a sudden drop in Celebnar's flight, the falcon's deadly talons closed around a terrified rabbit's body. Once Celebnar was sure the little creature was dead, he cawed again, this time in satisfaction.

Legolas smiled. For just a moment, it seemed like everything was going to be all right. This setting could have been so different than it was – the twins talking, the injured resting, and the prince taking the position as the watchman. Cut Ralorn out of the picture and why Aragorn and Arwen were hurt, it may have been so. This could have been a regular hunting trip, or an exploration of this altered part of the Misty Mountains. It could have been so different, yet it couldn't be any different.

Legolas stood slowly, again checking the others before leaving to help Celebnar with his kill. Praising the falcon for his work, the prince picked up both the bird and the fresh carcass of the rabbit before turning around and heading back.

When Legolas looked back however, Ralorn was staring at him.

Or rather, what he was carrying.

Ralorn whistled suddenly. The note was clear and drawn out, consistent for several seconds before ending in a sudden high-pitched call. There was an odd glint in Ralorn's eyes as he did so. The whistle meant little to Legolas, but Celebnar tensed sharply and reacted immediately. Pushing off Legolas' arm again, this time so quickly that his sharp talons left barely noticeable scratches in the elf's flesh, the falcon flew right for Ralorn.

"Akieliatha mobweno oriath."

The language Ralorn spoke was not decipherable to the elf prince, Legolas had no idea what it meant, but Celebnar apparently understood it. The falcon screeched and landed right on Ralorn's knee, watching the elf expectantly. But if Legolas didn't know any better, he would have said Celebnar did not find whatever Ralorn had said something to rejoice in. In fact, the falcon looked down-right annoyed.

"Sodanlov ekaliue."

The falcon's entire countenance changed. Celebnar hissed, the feathers on his body sticking straight out and his beak opened wide as he huffed at the elf angrily. Ralorn's gaze was no less fierce.

"Sodanlov ekaliue!"

"Ralorn!" Legolas jogged up to where the pair sat and reached for Celebnar, who very obligingly stepped back onto the elf's hand. Ralorn did not object. He even seemed to welcome it. Celebnar was still hissing even when Legolas held him, growling deep in his throat.

"What have you done to him?" Legolas attempted to calm the falcon but Celebnar would have none of it. He snapped at Legolas' hand and was only content when the prince left him alone. "What did you do?"

Ralorn let his gaze wander up from Celebnar to met Legolas' unwavering gaze, and spoke for the first time since becoming a captive. "I have done nothing," he said deeply, his eyes locked onto Legolas'; his piercing, midnight blue eyes that at the moment would have frozen the sun. "It is you who has done something."

"And by that you mean what?" Legolas pulled Celebnar closer to his side protectively.

"That falcon was raised and trained to be a killer, to attack anyone and anything its master would request of it. He was taught to respond to a special set of commands in a forgotten language, a privilege given only to the very best. I know that falcon," Ralorn said, "and he knows me. He knows how to kill even elves. He knows to respond to my voice. But now he will not."

"What did you tell him to do?" Legolas' voice had deepened a notch, his anger level rising. The twins glanced up at him, but he did not respond to the confusion in their eyes for they were too far away and out of his line of sight.

"First, I told him to come to me. Then," Ralorn paused a moment, considering. "I told him to kill me."

Legolas froze and stared back at the elf in total confusion. Ralorn looked away, back down to the ground and back into a world that only he understood. As if there had never been a conversation at all, the elf paid Legolas no heed, as if he weren't even there.

Legolas looked at Celebnar. The falcon's outward appearance had calmed, but Legolas could sense some of the rage in Celebnar's eyes. Preferring a life he had known for only a few days and the change that had been wrought in him, any reference to the life that had once been made him angry and uneasy. But to be requested of to kill... it was something Celebnar knew he never wanted to do again.

"What was that about?" Elladan asked the prince as Legolas sat down next to them, placing his hand on Aragorn's forehead yet again. The touch was to calm him down rather than to check on the man, as he had been doing so many times over the day. It was the only outward gesture to how much that confrontation had upset Legolas. Celebnar's good mood had disappeared, and it wasn't long before Legolas sent him to Silme, unable to deal with the falcon now.

The prince shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure."

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Elladan did not sleep that night. When Legolas finally told both he and Elrohir about the confrontation with Ralorn, the elder twin found his mind jumbled with far too many questions to be worthy of rational thought yet.

So much of a mystery in this. So much unanswered. Why? Why had Ralorn just... given up? Quit trying? He had dedicated his life to this... but it had all died. The desire, the will, the maddening obsessive rage that drove him forward, to keep going... had fled, like a winter mist to the coming sunlight of spring.

Leaving the others not long after night had fallen, Elladan wandered down a small mountain path a short distance until he came to the edge of the mountain-side. And, under the light of the stars, he sat down in a cross-legged style and proceeded to sift through the wearying thoughts of his soul.

It was not for pity, nor for pride, nor for any failure he felt so deep in his heart for what had been done that Elladan had come here. He had come to find a solace of his mind, to find guidance to his own understanding. Oh, how his soul hungered for understanding! So much had happened and he knew it had, yet still... he did not understand it. He did not understand the things that had transpired. His eyes stared into nothing, absorbed in his thoughts.

He wondered... about what had come to pass and how it had affected all their lives.

He pondered... about what might have been, had he sought the truth, had reached out to someone in need with open hands... rather than fists.

Elrohir joined him not long after he had left. Stopping and sitting cross-legged by his twin's side, Elrohir didn't speak at first. He glanced at Elladan, and then let his eyes ride up to the stars. His gaze was thoughtful, as though he were reading something in the bright, twinkling constellations.

"It's Ralorn, is it not?" he asked Elladan after a moment. "That's who you're thinking about."

Elladan nodded heavily. "Yes."

"Why?" Elrohir looked at his twin again, his voice not cold or harsh, but patient. As though he knew what the answer would be.

"I wish I understood why he pains my heart the way he does."

"You mean, trying to find a balance between wanting to kill him and forgive him?"

Elladan sighed, but when he finally looked back at Elrohir, he gave his twin a small, sad smile. "I'm glad you understand."

§§§

"Legolas," Arwen's gentle voice touched the wood-elf's ears lightly, almost too low to be heard. Legolas turned and allowed the elf maiden to walk up to him, her arm set and bound, her shoulder cared for and wrapped tightly. She looked disheveled in her appearance when compared to what her stature would normally be, but it was overrun by the incomprehensible look in her eyes. A look that saddened the prince, though he knew not the reason.

"My lady," Legolas offered by way of greeting, inviting her with the tone of his voice to continue. Celebnar was on his shoulder, and the falcon chirped a greeting when the prince spoke.

"I need to ask a favor of you."

"What is it?"

Arwen sighed, her actions belying what she could not find words to express just yet. "Legolas, there is something that I must do. For the sake of another, I need to do it." She lifted her gaze and locked eyes with the prince.

"I wish to speak to Ralorn."

"Arwen," Legolas whispered, feeling a wealth of questions and emotions suddenly rise within him and no way to express them. "Why?"

Arwen closed her eyes. "Because he believes that all has left him. That I, once his only friend, betrayed him. I cannot linger here and do nothing for him. He was my friend once, and I must let that mean something. I have to try to help him." Arwen opened her eyes and again pleaded, "Please, Legolas, let me speak to him. I do not know if it will be of any worth, but I must try all that I can."

"But why him?" there was a flash of protection that flickered dangerously in the Silvan elf's eyes, just as it would when he was concerned about someone he cared about.

Arwen shook her head, considering. "Legolas, if Ralorn were Estel, as his friend you would do all you could to bring him back, wouldn't you?" When Legolas nodded, she continued. "I knew Ralorn before circumstances made him who he is now. I need to believe that I can find the bright, sensitive child I befriended when we were still young. He needs to know my story. For his sake, I owe him that much."

Legolas was still unsure. Arwen was not his sister, he could not tell her what to do, but he knew that her brothers would not take too kindly to what she was about to attempt. "The twins will kill us both... if they catch you talking to him..."

"Elladan and Elrohir have been gone for almost two hours; I know them well enough to know that they won't be back any time soon. They have much to consider, as do we all, and they prefer to do it alone, together." Arwen gently massaged the hand of her injured arm. "They will not catch me, nor will they find out. I do not plan to take very long." One last time, she pleaded with the older elf. "Please, let me do what I must."

Heavily, Legolas finally consented. "All right,"

Giving him a small smile, Arwen thanked him. "I thank you for your concern, but you needn't fear. Ralorn would never hurt me. If you remember nothing more of his heart please remember this – he is honorable, he does all that he says he will, circumstances willing. And he promised me that he would never hit me again."

Legolas grimaced. "Arwen, please..."

"He is out of your hands. He is out of my brother's hands. He trusted me once. I need you to trust me now. Perhaps I can teach him to remember that trust we once shared, among other things he used to know."

Arwen turned slowly and walked away, toward where Ralorn had been left. Legolas watched her go, and then walked over to where Aragorn lay.

'_I may never understand why or how she chooses to look and try to find light in darkness such as this,' _the wood-elf thought as he let her go,_ 'but it takes a strong will to be able to look into the eyes of one who has wronged another so deeply.'_

The ranger was asleep again, however lightly, and at the moment unaware of the goings on around him. That was something Legolas was very grateful for. After a moment, Legolas again attempted to check the man's vitals but Aragorn shuddered in his sleep, unconsciously pulling away from the touch of his friend. Slightly unsettled, Legolas let his hand fall back and rest in his lap. Celebnar remained on his shoulder and for a long time the elf did not move, so long that the falcon turned his head around and fell asleep.

When Arwen stopped next to Ralorn's side, the other elf did not react right away. His gaze was riveted on the ground. He had barely moved in hours. If it were not for the irregularity of his breathing, Arwen would have assumed him already passed on.

But no, he was still within this world.

"Ralorn?" she whispered.

He did not respond.

"Ralorn, please..." Arwen knelt on the ground and did not break her gaze to anything else. "I want nothing more than to help you-"

"Then why do you not kill me?" his voice both a whisper and a hiss. He lifted his gaze, his eyes filled with anger, and for a moment, a flash of hurt. "There is nothing left for me here. I wish to die, and after all that I have done, even that I am denied."

"Ralorn I could never kill you, nor do I wish it. You were once my friend, and I want to help."

"The only way you can help me now is if you ended my life." He turned away from her again.

Arwen settled farther on the ground, her voice filled with concern. "Why do you wish only that?"

Ralorn sighed. He could never lie to her. And what was the point now? There was nothing, no desire left to hold it inside. The truth may as well be told to the one that used to be his best friend. "My life revolves around my past; unforgotten, unresolved, unforgivable after so many years of torment. I live only to avenge it." His voice was fierce, but there was no fire in his eyes. They were as black and cold as ever.

"Is that really all that matters to you, that life itself has no meaning anymore?"

"I do not seek revenge for pleasure but because it is all I have left. When my father died and you taken away from me, I had nothing, I was nothing. I have no desire to live, only to restore some piece of mind before I let go."

Arwen shook her head. "I cannot believe that. You must remember something more than suffering. Do you remember the trees and the song they sing? Or the stars and the hope they brought? Life and the joy that entwines it? We all suffer, but none of us need fall to despair. There is memory of good all around us, just look for it! There is always good left in the world."

Ralorn pulled farther away from her and broke the eye contact, staring at the ground. "I used to think that back in the beginning of my story, but I no longer can. I am dead to my race and to myself after so long and through so many dreadful deeds."

"You thought so once, you shall again." Arwen was trying so hard to restore some hope. "Do not think your future is lost. There is something more."

"No," Ralorn whispered, his voice now filled with despair. "There is nothing, nothing left for me here. The trees are dead, the stars veiled, life full of suffering. I hate this world, my heart no longer understands its song. I am nothing more than a shadow; a lurker of dark places for it is all I can lay claim to now. I belong to the race of elves by blood but no longer by spirit. I am beyond any healer's touch, beyond the threshold where I might have returned."

"No, you must listen, you must try! The trees still speak to you; they can help set you free again. Please, Ralorn, don't do this. Don't destroy yourself more. Let go, start again, and be free from your past. Forgive yourself and listen to me. There is so much more."

Ralorn shook his head again, but he lifted his face to the sky, a small flicker of longing passing over his eyes. "Almost... I wish I could believe there was still hope for me."

"Listen to my words with your whole heart... and you'll know that I speak the truth. There is always hope for you."

Ralorn placed his head in his hands and did not answer. Arwen sighed, and gently lifted his head to pierce him with her gaze. "Tell me, Ralorn," she whispered. "Are you proud of who you are?"

Ralorn's face crumbled slightly underneath her eyes and her touch, but most of all that question. "I despise who I have become."

"Then why do you continue to let it own you?" her face was full of sadness but her eyes were firm.

Ralorn became weary as he spoke of a truth he had known for so long. "It has taken over me, and what it craves I will never achieve. When your heart and mind lay claim to something, how can you do anything else but obey? What else can I do?"

"Let it go."

"What?"

"Let it go and replace it. There is no freedom in binding yourself to a black hole; you have become a slave to a being you swore many years ago that you would never submit to. Find something new to hold onto."

"How could I possibly let this go? My parents were taken from me! My life was scarred and destroyed! What can stop it now?"

"What are you fighting against?" now Arwen's voice was fierce. "Do you even know anymore? Someone like you can only come to this end by choice, but whatever your original intentions were; you have become truly lost in your fight for justice. The memory of your parents' deaths and the suffering and sacrifices you had to make are not events meant to haunt you forever, but now all the good you have once known you have forgotten and the memories of your loved ones have faded into your mind, now only poison in your veins. Your own losses have clogged your heart." The elleth's gaze bore right into Ralorn's. "You must let it go. It is the only way to be free."

"Should I just let the past die then, pretend it meant nothing to me?" Ralorn's voice was angry now.

"Pretend it meant nothing to you? Certainly not! Only realize that what is done is done, and the path your mind desires to take and has tried to walk down already has more injustice in it than any of the actions done to encourage that road." The elf-maiden did not back down, though her voice lost its fierceness. "There is good in you still. Set it free and know where your heart truly lies - not in darkness, but in light."

Ralorn shook his head. "I can't."

"Can't? Or won't?"

Ralorn dropped his head again, his hands clenching into fists against his bonds. "The night my father died, all hope was lost from me, even though it took weeks for me to realize it. I am not lost, Arwen." Ralorn lifted his gaze one last time, speaking slowly but intensely. "I... am dead... to me... and I have wished I was dead for a long time."

Arwen shut her eyes, attempting to restrain the tears. At one time, they had been such good friends, and that loyalty still was in her. "Oh, my old friend," she whispered. "What kind of life have you known, that you deny yourself of all that could save you?"

Ralorn was silent, but he wouldn't raise his eyes from his hands. A repressed shudder rippled through his shoulders, pulling his body slightly against his bonds.

Arwen reached forward and gently pulled his face out of his hands. For the first time in their lives together, she saw something she had never seen him do. He was crying, though softly, almost unnoticeable. It was perhaps the first time he had cried since he had discovered his father had died saving him. Tears tracked lightly down the worn lines of his face from under closed eyelashes, his eyes shut still in humiliation and despair. He wanted so much to let go, but he could find no way out.

Arwen pulled closer to him and touched his face with her left hand, encouraging him, for just a moment, to open his eyes for her. When he finally did, she let him search the depths of her own. _'Valar give me the strength," _she spoke in the deep recesses of her heart. _"To let him know..."_

"You have never been alone," she whispered, and leaning forward further she kissed him gently on his scar-marred cheek for several moments, holding him close.

The feel of her hand on his cheek and the soft touch of her lips against the deformity of his face broke and shattered the dark resolve that had built inside his heart. Leaning his head slightly in her direction, Ralorn wept in her arms. The world faded from his senses. How long had it been? When was the last time he was held like this? The last time he had been held in his mother's arms. Foreign emotions came back to him, of love and tenderness.

Ralorn recognized the point when Arwen silently left his side but he did not stop her. All the desire he had had to take her away was gone. Despite all he had done, she still cared for him. She still cared. She still cared...

She still loved him for the friends they had once been.

All night, Ralorn did not sleep. The winds in the dark slowly dried his tears, but the ache in his heart didn't fade. She had saved his life before. If it had not been for her care and support when they were young, he would never have made it. He would have died shortly after his father's death, young... hurt... and alone. He would have died of a defeated, broken heart... but fate it seemed had other plans for him. Now she was saving him again, even though he had done less than nothing to deserve it. She was still saving him...

So he set her free. Under the light of the moon and the stars he set her free from his heart. He repaid her unshakable loyalty and unfathomable kindness - he let her go.

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Elladan and Elrohir did not return to the others until dawn was nearly upon them. The campsite was quiet; all but one being was asleep. The twins greeted Legolas and Elrohir offered to take over the watch, to which Legolas forfeited immediately. Despite the fact that he never would have said it out loud, he was ready to sleep... for a long time.

"Where did you go?" Legolas asked as he unrolled his sleeping mat close to the rest of the group. Elladan did not respond but Elrohir did.

"Up the trail a ways."

Legolas eyed his friend curiously. "Did it help?"

Elrohir quirked his shoulders and sighed. "Perhaps, but we will have to see what tomorrow brings."

Legolas nodded, and knowing further questions would not be wise now, he rolled over to face his ranger friend.

Aragorn's face was taunt in his sleep, attesting to his still worn down and frightened state. Caught in his dreams, he felt so detached from everything he had ever known, so alone in his fight to overcome his own mind. It was as if the world was moving ahead and he was trapped standing still. It was like he didn't belong in his own body. He didn't even know if he could ever feel the same around his friends, his family... or himself. Heart rent and torn, sometimes aching so deeply that he wished he would just die.

Yet he knew there was one who understood his weakness, one who had been there when he should have died. He needed that comforter again for he could feel his spirit withering, though there was the part of him that still yearned for a fulfilled life, not an unfinished one.

Suddenly, as though sensing his friend was near, he whispered, "Legolas..."

Legolas stopping moving, all his attention on the man. He wanted to hear whatever Aragorn had to say. A moment later, while struggling to form the words in a choked voice, hands reaching forward in urgency he whispered, "...Don't leave me..."

Memory returned to Legolas of the conversation he had had earlier with Arwen, bringing back no small amount of pain to his heart.

'**_If Ralorn were Estel..._ '**

Overcome with his own weariness and biting back tears, Legolas leaned closer and took one of his friend's hands tightly in his own, nearly crushing the fingers so Estel would not need wonder if someone was there.

"I won't leave you," Legolas whispered fiercely, and the ranger relaxed when he heard the promise of his friend. "I will never leave you."

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The next morning, Aragorn woke up feeling as though he had really slept... as if an angel had watched over his mind during the night and kept at bay the frightful voices that had begun to house in his heart. Opening his eyes he discovered that he was surrounded by his brothers, still deep in slumber. Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir had encircled him and created a defense in which he did truly feel safe. All through the night, Legolas had retained a firm hold on the man's hand. The prince was still asleep, but Aragorn sensed he had not slept very long. A gentle luminance around the elf heightened his features, care-worn and worry lined. Then Aragorn saw something that made his heart swell. His dear friend had been crying. Crying for him.

Pulling himself forward until he was close enough, the ranger brushed the elf's blond hair back and gently kissed him on the forehead. Grief and gratitude filled his touch. His friend's selfless defense of love through the night had cured some part of his pain. Once again, he could really feel the desire to live. The willingness to try again. Though he was far from full recovery, the man was well on his way.

000000000

When he woke, Elladan sat up, stretched, and pulled up against a thick tree trunk behind him. His gaze roved lightly over the clearing. Elrohir was at his feet, most definitely awake but as of yet had not attempted to move, and at his left side both Estel and Legolas lay on their sleeping mats. He knew the man had woken, but it did not look as though Legolas had.

"Estel," Elladan called out at one point, pulling the ranger out of whatever thoughts he had been entertaining. "Is Legolas still asleep?"

"Yes," Aragorn answered softly, again touching his friend's head with his hand and monitoring his light breathing. "He sleeps still, though lightly. He will wake soon."

"Most likely with the coming of the sun. Dawn will be upon us soon." Elladan stared out in the direction of the sunrise, watching the blackness of the night sky on the edge of the horizon fade to the coming of the sun. In a few minutes they would see sun bring more light into their world, just as it did almost every day.

Elladan looked back down at the man. Aragorn had left Legolas' side and was pulling himself toward his older brother. His face pinched in his effort, but he was much stronger, and the going was much faster. His tailbone ached but it was bearable now, and he could almost get up on all fours without his back seizing. He crawled up to where Elladan sat waiting for the sunrise and lay down at his side. Elladan smiled, and without even asking he gently lifted the ranger into his arms, holding him up so he could better see around the trees for the coming of the sun. Aragorn was slightly tense in his arms at first, fears that had faded for Legolas not quite yet faded for Elladan, but Aragorn fought them until he could relax. An almost overpowering sense of safety filled him. Together, they watched the sunrise.

When the sun had made it halfway, Elrohir turned over and smiled at them. "It's beautiful this morning, isn't it?"

He was right. Though the devastation around them was thick and horrible, trees and rocks shattered and twisted together, something as simple and familiar as a sunrise brought them all great joy. The sky began to explode in beautiful shades of pink, orange, red and eventually blue. It was good to know that in a constantly changing world, some things would never fade with time.

The sun had fully come out before Legolas woke. Aragorn sensed the moment when the elf let go of the dreams of night to greet the new morning. The man turned his face away from the brilliant sunrise and gave his friend a small smile. Shaking sleep out of his eyes, the prince smiled back and quickly joined the others.

Though they didn't know it, a figure not far from them had been watching this all unfold. Ralorn said nothing as he watched them interact. It was astonishing just how much the twins and the prince cared about this human. To one that never would have given any human such respect, it was confusing and even a bit mind-boggling. What had this man done, to earn such a place in all their hearts?

Eventually Ralorn had to look away. It pained him too much to watch them so content. Yet even as he did the image had burned itself into his mind. He couldn't get the image to fade. Sharp and piercing, it stayed with him. He bowed his head, taking in breaths long and slow.

However, the content scene didn't last long. Quickly, the group realized that someone was missing.

Elrohir noticed first. "Where is Arwen?"

All of them tensed as they looked around. Elrohir jumped up and more closely scanned the clearing. Arwen wasn't there. All her belongings were gone, and so was Asfaloth. Sometime during the night, she had stolen away without notice or warning.

"I don't understand. Why would she leave?" Elrohir murmured as he searched for any traces. He found them, leading out of the clearing in the general direction of Rivendell.

Legolas immediately became silent. The twins and Aragorn glanced at him. "Legolas?"

The wood-elf sighed. "I believe I know why she has gone. Last night, while you both were gone and Estel asleep, she went to go talk to Ralorn."

"What!" both the twins looked shocked. Yet they both knew it would have not been unlikely for Arwen to want to do such a thing.

"I tried to convince her otherwise, but she would not be moved. The conversation did not last long though, and I did not listen to it so I could not tell you what it was about. I – I had other things on my mind."

"Do not fear, Legolas, it's all right." Elladan placed a reassuring hand on the elf prince's shoulder. "I should have known that she would try something like this."

"Should we go after her?"

Elrohir shook his head and smiled ruefully. "She knows how to handle the wilds as well as any of us, and she's with Asfaloth. Don't worry, she'll get it when we get back," he and Elladan shared a secretive smile, "but she'll be fine."

Elladan looked down at the man in his arms. Eyes shut, the human looked peaceful. After days of darkness, it did worlds of good to his heart to hear his family speak and jest in a familiar way. He smiled. It was worth fighting death just to hear it again. The hum of conversation was almost rhythmic and he had quickly discovered his body fading away again. Aragorn had no desire to leave yet. The travel home was going to be rough at best until they got out of this deadly range where the earthquake had ripped up the earth, days minimum.

Not moving from where he lay, he asked the others a question they had been deliberately avoiding.

"What of Ralorn?"

They all looked over to the tree Ralorn still sat underneath, bound in the same way. The elf's head was bent down and he wasn't moving, an unnatural stoop to his shoulders that attested to something much darker raging behind a veil of obscurity. But at hearing his name, Ralorn looked up and gazed at them all. The look in his eyes was unsettling, like staring into the eyes of an injured black-eyed raptor.

"Why have you not killed me yet?" Ralorn asked, his voice filled with disdain. "It's what you want, isn't it? After all that's happened; all that I've done to you! You must hate me."

Aragorn reacted first, shaking his head to silence Ralorn and even Elladan, who was about to speak in protest. He turned cloudy silver-grey eyes to his one time capturer and spoke softly.

"If it would lift the curse in all the races of this world – the need or desire to kill in exchange for survival or pleasure, I would readily demand your blood. But that wouldn't stop the killing, now would it?"

With a sarcastic jerk of his head, Ralorn spoke again. "No, it wouldn't. You would have to kill us all to be at peace and even then there is no cure to the curse."

"Nay, there is a cure that is not death." Aragorn relaxed fully into the arms of his eldest brother, again reminding himself that he was not alone anymore, that no harm could come to him again like it had before. He sighed. "Understanding... and compassion."

Ralorn shook his head, his tone mixing with the sounds of regretful laughter. "Compassion? Compassion is warranted to some, not to all, and never from your kind to the likes of me. Haven't they taught you that yet? You never show compassion to your enemies." He glared at Elladan.

"No..." Aragorn turned his eyes to lock with the dark ones several feet away. "It is not lost to you, it has never been lost."

"Perhaps not to you, human," Ralorn shot back, a bit sharper than before, his dark eyes dancing angrily. "But I will die before I see a true act of compassion. No one will warrant it freely any longer." His gaze was so harsh, so cold... he had lost so much. "If called upon, could you find the strength to give where others cannot?"

Yet even as he said it his eyes flickered for a moment with uncertainty, and Aragorn knew what he needed to do. To unveil another side of life that was not built of age-old anger and pain, but of life-long conviction and hope.

_**Could you find the strength to give where others cannot? ...**_

Aragorn pulled himself out of Elladan's grasp slowly, and crawled weakly over to where Ralorn sat in waiting. Still bound tightly, the elf made no move and only watched while his face remained devoid of emotion beyond anger. Pulling himself along and discouraging all attempts Elladan made to dissuade him, Aragorn finally stopped in front of Ralorn and sighed deeply before lifting his gaze and leveling the elf with a calm glare he had not been capable of in the past few weeks.

"Legolas," he called behind him without breaking his gaze. "Please bring me a sword."

If Legolas hesitated Aragorn didn't know, but the trust between them was strong and the prince complied. He untied Elrohir's beautiful sword from Silme's side and brought it to the man, placing the weapon in the ranger's hands before slowly backing away.

Ralorn watched him curiously, wondering if the man was going to end his life. Not that he cared much – he wished for it more than anything else. It was either now in the forest or execution in Rivendell for his deeds. He did not want to go home; it brought painful memories to the surface. The first time was hard enough, and he had no desire to attempt it again.

Raspy, worn, and so close to giving in had it not been that his family were there, Aragorn spoke. "Ralorn, I cannot keep going like this. I cannot continue to fear this way. If you still wish to take the lives of me and my brothers, then I offer you this." The sword slid easily from its sheath, the metal ringing lightly as it was drawn. "Take this sword," he whispered, dropping the sheath to the ground by his side and cutting through the bonds that held Ralorn back, then placing the perfectly balanced blade in his upturned palms. "And if you still wish to command it, fulfill your oath... and take my life."


	16. The Hearts Of Good And Evil

Chapter 15

**The Hearts Of Good And Evil**

The severed rope fell harmlessly from Ralorn's wrists. Slowly, stiffly, Aragorn got onto his knees and held the sword out to the elf. Ralorn didn't move, his expressionless gaze turning to one of shock.

"Otherwise," Aragorn continued, his voice soft but strong. "Please leave, and do not threaten my family again."

Aragorn dropped his gaze to the forest floor, but the sword didn't move. It lay spread over the man's hands in an open invitation to the dark elf. All it took was the choice of one that could not find the power to move from where he knelt.

Elladan and Elrohir were standing side-by-side not ten feet away from their little brother. Horror was wrapping them in its endless chain. This was not supposed to be Aragorn's battle! It was something they should have solved years ago, but time and memory had swept it all away. Now they were still paying the price of losing something that should not have been forgotten.

Legolas stood right behind Aragorn a short distance, watching his friend with rapt attention. Fear was trying to rip its way into his heart, but the prince pushed it back. He had been there the ultimate night of failure, when Aragorn had nearly given himself over to the end in return for the rest he couldn't find, he had kept the man alive despite all odds, but now there was no protecting him from this. Not Legolas, not Elladan, not Elrohir. Aragorn had to do it, and do it alone. Only then could he find the path to be truly free. Only then could he begin to really heal.

Aragorn's shoulders were shaking and his head hung forward in a weakness of his body he would never admit to. Critical weariness barely healed was making it difficult for him, the scars that marred his body ever fresh and their pull on his heart and soul still very strong.

Ralorn had not moved when Aragorn had made the offer and presented the sword, but inside dark confusion was battling with him, questions now rising to the forefront of his mind. What was happening? What had led him to this point? A life full of dark memories that would have made a seasoned warrior tremble, and now, suddenly, someone was offering him this? A tortured and breaking man, a human, was kneeling at his feet, offering him something that was valued beyond all else, something that he had taken for granted - life.

The consequences that would follow should he go through with it were all too familiar it would again stain his heart to even darker ways... just like all the others he had taken. The first to the last, what difference did it make? It had the same ending. He was not afraid to kill or torture, it was something that had come with the dark paths he had chosen.

But was it what he really wanted? Was it enough anymore?

His conversation with Arwen the previous night came back to him. It was not until now that he knew she had been right, and for the first time since he was much younger, he could again hear a voice that was no longer willing to be ignored. Lessons his parents had taught him before they were brutally stripped from his life came back to him lessons of mercy, justice, and love. He could remember fearing to take a life. Could remember being hesitant to draw a sword, rather desiring to work with his father and the horses - a job that did not require a blade and the responsibility to chose when to take a life and when to save it. Those fears he had overcome over time and ignored the pain it gave him until those voices disappeared entirely. Those fears meant nothing to him anymore. But somehow, they were reaching out to him again.

The sword was still there, glinting and winking at him in the light. A week before he would have taken the offer without thought, wishing only to remove the darkness of betrayal and hurt that had hazed his mind for so many long, cold years. Last night he would have gripped the hilt with ease and let the cold steal find its way into this man's heart, destroying any barrier that was keeping Aragorn's spirit from fleeing to an unfamiliar realm. But now, a week, a day... those thoughts were from a lifetime ago. Lost. Gone. Forgotten.

Arwen had reminded him of love, and now this man he knew as Strider had shown him the deepest kind of compassion mercy. The willingness to give his life for his family and friends. To deny his own life in utter selflessness. To allow another the chance to witness the actions of deep, unconditional caring. Ralorn did not understand... but no longer could he find the strength in his fingers to take the sword with the intent to kill. Within him something once small and weak was now growing bright and strong, holding him back from walking down that dark path again.

With a mind he had not used in over a millennia, Ralorn faced the man fully on the ground and with both hands lifted the sword out of Aragorn's control. The ranger's hands slowly found their way to his lap and he sat in waiting, head bowed forward so he could not see the end, his hair falling over his shoulders and shielding his eyes. If Ralorn could have seen Aragorn's face, he would have seen the tears, would have seen the pain of the choices that he had made.

The only difference was, this time, it did matter. He had so suddenly, so drastically, so powerfully experienced a mighty change of heart.

So when Ralorn lifted the sheath at Aragorn's side and slid the white blade back behind the protective leather, Aragorn was in no small way astonished.

Settling the re-sheathed sword on Aragorn's lap, he let the man's hands curl around the supple leather in amazement. Ralorn leaned back and did not move or speak until the ranger lifted his gaze.

"I do not understand..." Ralorn murmured when Aragorn looked at him, and the elf's very features seemed to have changed. The hard, hate-filled glare that dared anyone to say anything was gone. For the first time, parhaps the first time since the elf was very young, there was pleading and confusion. "But I cannot kill you human... I cannot. I came looking for death... but you have offered me only life. I did not look for it in a ranger, nor in anyone have I ever met save one. I will go... and I will not hunt you or those you claim as yours again. I swear it."

Reaching deep into one pocket of his tunic, Ralorn withdrew a small pendent; a beautiful silver-lined walnut shell strung on a leather thong. It glinted merrily in the coming rays of sunlight. Holding it out to the ranger, the elf let Aragorn stare at the treasured shell and hesitantly close his fingers around it.

"Here," Ralorn whispered. "For the boy."

After that, Ralorn was gone. Despite his evilness of heart, he was always of his word. He stood slowly, turned, and walked away, not stopping nor looking back. As he did so, he was in shock at himself. After so long of never being able to even falter in his step, he had finally found the strength to look away and let go.

Several minutes passed after Ralorn had left in complete and stunned silence. No one could fully grasp what had just happened. No one in the clearing could even move until Aragorn did. The man had watched Ralorn leave, his stature tall and straight as he knelt. Once Ralorn had disappeared from his view, Aragorn finally let his head fall forward for the last time. It was a silent tribute to the man's strength of heart that he was able to make it this far, and now finally safe, he let his guard down. His head fell to his hands.

Legolas reached his side first, coming up from behind and wrapping his arms around the man, letting Aragorn lean back against him. Aragorn dropped the sword, pushing it off his lap and turned partway around, burying his face in his friend's cloak. In one hand, he still retained the small walnut shell.

"I'm sorry," he murmured painfully, blood dripping from his mouth as restrained sobs heaved from his bruised body. "I had to let him go, I couldn't let him haunt me anymore..."

"You did what I thought you would do; what I wanted and feared the most. It is good to know Estel, that you have a heart that understands the darkest of a life." Legolas held the man close.

"I hate him," Aragorn whispered, tears clinging to his eyes. His elven brothers had joined the group, both wrapping their arms around the kneeling human and prince.

"I hate him, too." Elrohir said softly. He was crying as well.

"He let them rape me," the ranger moaned, testing the words to see how if felt to say them aloud. "Rape me! He tried to kill all of us. I hate him!" Speaking it aloud seemed to help him let go of some of his emotional hurt, and a shell of his detachment began to fall away from his heart. His voice fell down to a murmur as another thought came to mind. Something stronger and deeper than the suffering he had endured.

"But he's shown me what hate can do. I'm not-" he choked. "I'm not strong enough to become as I wish to be and let that kind of hate stay with me. If I don't learn to let it go, it will destroy me as surely as it did him. He cannot walk in the shadow of my life, nor can I live each day remembering. I needed to set him free, so he could learn as I have learned the power of mercy... and there is so much more to life that he needs to understand that does not involve grief..."

Aragorn ceased to speak, feeling a wealth of things he wished to say still and inadequacy in what had already been said, but he could not find the words to express all that was in his heart. He allowed Elladan to again pull him back into the elf's arms, shutting his eyes while Elrohir and Legolas knelt nearby. He was so tired, so worn... every fiber of his being felt like it was shutting down.

Elrohir touched Aragorn lightly, encouraging the man to look at him one last time before drifting off into a weary sleep. "And that," he whispered gently, "is the compassion of a true, wise King of Men."

As Elladan watched the young man finally succumb to the will of his body, he felt he now understood why he had been in turmoil the night before. He knew now, why he had held back. Somehow, he had known that it was not Ralorn's time, nor was it in his hands or his heart to make it so.

"Come," he whispered to the others. "It is time to go home."

§§§

A mighty elf lord stood outside his home, patiently talking with a young boy of about fifteen. The teen's leg had been bound and splinted but the break he had taken was healing quickly. Comfortable autumn weather floated gently though the outer courtyards of Rivendell, giving the valley a sense of peace and home.

Then suddenly the elf lord cut himself off mid-sentence. Turning his eyes away from the boy and taking his attention to the north, he listened. It seemed as though the trees were holding their breath as he was. Something was coming, he could sense it, hear it, feel it. In baited breath, he turned away with no explanation whatsoever to his guest, and began walking to the main entrance. After a moment's hesitation, the teenager picked up a set of crude crutches and followed the sound of his host.

Lord Elrond walked about three hundred feet before stopping and waiting. He could see beings in the distance, a small party of only four beings and one beast. All but one was on foot. The sight caught at his heart. Just as Gowen caught up to his side, Elrond took off at a light jog, headed straight for the new-coming group. As he got closer, loud calls of a joyful greeting rushed forward to meet him.

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"Elladan," Aragorn whispered to his older brother, catching the Eldar's attention. "I wish to walk the rest of the way."

"Estel," Elladan hesitated. He didn't want the man to walk quite yet. For the two weeks of slow travel Aragorn had been forbidden to walk unaided. It wasn't until last night right before bed down that the twins had finally allowed the ranger to walk a little on his own. Feet still healing and tender though the surface had more or less healed, the ranger's traveling companions didn't want anything to split open under unneeded stress. Compared to what they had all been through, the journey home had been uneventful and long, traveling though what had been destroyed by the earthquake. All of them were ready to find solace under Rivendell's rafters. In reality, Elladan had no excuse to give his little brother now. They were almost home; another five minutes and they would be at the front door. Surely Estel could walk that far without inflicting any further injury to himself.

Realizing that he had stalled for too long, Elladan glanced over at Elrohir, then Legolas. Both shrugged and smiled. 'Let him,' they seemed to say with their eyes. Again looking at his little brother, Elladan couldn't refuse the pleading in the young man's eyes. Shaking his head, Elladan stepped forward and with a single touch to the horse's neck told Silme to stop. The mare stalled immediately, looking back as Elladan helped Aragorn off her back. Celebnar flew off of Legolas' shoulder, where he had perched for much of the journey home, and lighted on Silme's neck just behind her ears.

"Be careful," Elladan whispered as he steadied the man on his feet. The limbs heavily wrapped, Aragorn sucked in his breath until the phase of numbing pain passed.

Just as Elladan was about to step away, the ranger clutched his brother's shoulder. "Help me," he said through clenched teeth. "Please."

Pulling one of the human's arms around his shoulders, Elladan complied. "Come on Estel," he said softly. "Let's go impress Ada."

Elladan began walking forward, forcing the ranger to walk with a small grin on his face. Breathing heavily, Aragorn nodded and smiled back, holding tightly to his older brother. "Oh, may I? Impress Ada... I'm so looking forward to his enforced bed rest, his lecture for getting into troubles again, his over-protectiveness the moment I enter his presence. I'll be confined to bed for a month and receive that awful tea every day for the first week. It makes me mad just thinking..." the man trailed off a moment, his voice changing slightly, his eyes lifting forward. "...Thinking... thinking about him."

The tone had faded from sarcastic to aching.

Elrohir pointed ahead of the group. "You may be in luck, tithen muindor, for he approaches us now."

(little brother)

He was right. A figure was running toward them in an almost undignified way, his identity clear.

Elrohir broke away from the group, rushing to greet his father. Elladan called Legolas over. "Take him," the elder twin begged of the prince. "I must go talk to father before he sees Estel."

Legolas quickly took Elladan's place and let the twins run for their father, their greetings to the elf lord loud and joyful. "Hurry my friend," Aragorn whispered. "I need to let him know that I'm all right..."

"Your father isn't going anywhere but to you, I promise you Estel. It will be all right." Legolas walked the man slowly, letting the ranger set the pace. Aragorn couldn't go faster than a newborn learning to walk, though he did try. His throat constricted and his heart began to swell when he could see his foster father clearly. It had truly been so long since he had seen him. When he had come home that night weeks past their greeting had been all of a moment long, with the expectation that they would have a chance to speak again the next day. How wrong they had been.

So often Aragorn had feared what would happen if he would never see him again. Never get that chance to again receive the comfort only a father could give. Emotions close to the surface and hardly caring at this point, Aragorn tried to walk even faster. "Ada..." he spoke to no one in particular, in a voice neither loud nor soft, imploring the elf lord to come his way.

Elrond turned away from his twin sons and faced his young human son, as though hearing the call. Seeing the man's tormented, disheveled appearance, his heart broke at the sight. Estel looked up at him through unruly strands of hair in his eyes, the pleading so evident in their depths. The gash on his face had been wrapped and cared for, but the fading bruises were still quite prominent. The injuries made the man look so much older than he was. Then Elrond looked into the young man's eyes.

They were dark with abuse and inner turmoil. They were lacking the luster and vitality that once had radiated so clearly from those silver-grey eyes. Only a shred of some light remained now. Estel was still in misery from much more than his hurts. Elrond's piercing, knowing gaze saw right through the remaining web of protective defense the ranger had both knowingly and unknowingly drilled thickly into the heart of his being. It was the mark of one who had come to know real, ever-remembering pain.

Elrond's fierce gaze began to fade from knowing to tears. The pains of his son's hurts were so deep and dark that he could not tell how far it had etched itself into the walls of the ranger's heart. Some part of him had been unconsciously locked away. Though Estel was there, hand reaching out, and yet at the same time he was not, heart holding back. Something was missing. For a brief moment he looked back, searching for what he knew must have been lost.

_Aragorn turned his head to his approaching father, smiling again. "Ada!"_

_Elrond grasped his youngest firmly on the shoulders and looked at his son with a critical eye. Aragorn was nearly twenty-five now, and his face had hardened to the firm features of a young man. He was fit and well, though quite obviously tired, but his eyes still held a bright sparkle that was all his own, that held the innocence of his younger years._

"_It is good to see you again, Estel," Elrond said joyfully, pulling the man into a quick, firm hug. He and his sons had learned to respect the time they still had with the man, for none of them were sure just how long the ranger would stay at home, nor how long he would be gone if called for again._

"_I have missed you all so," Aragorn murmured softly into the folds of his father's soft robe, nearly giving in to the fog that muddled his brain. When he pulled away, Elrond could see weary lines creasing the edges of the young man's eyes. Nodding in understanding, he turned to the twins._

"_Could you two please take Estel to his room before he falls over?" Aragorn shut his eyes and snorted at the good-natured jest. Both the twins attached themselves to either of Aragorn's sides and began to lead him down the hall. "We'll need to talk more in the morning."_

"_All right, Ada," Aragorn called over his shoulder quietly. "Thank you."_

"_Good night, my son."_

"Estel," Elrond whispered, his eyes filled with devastation and heartache. "My son... oh my son..."

Aragorn resisted the urge to look down. His father could see, could read what others could miss or not understand the depth of. He had been tormented and abused. Though he had freed himself from Ralorn, the memory and consequence of what had been done to him wasn't about to fade. He knew Elrond could tell his heart had changed. He knew it as well as Legolas did.

00000000

Legolas sensed the moment when Aragorn could no longer move. Reading the open expression of horror in the elf lord's suddenly aged eyes; the prince took matters into his own hands. He knew what they both desired. Careful not to jounce his precious burden too much, Legolas led Aragorn over to where Elrond stood motionless, and with gentle hands, pulled Aragorn's arm wrapped around his neck off him and placed it over Elrond's shoulder.

It was the elf lord's eyes that now gave Estel the answer he needed to momentarily still the storm in his soul. They were so full of compassion. So full of love. So full of fire. So full of fear. And yet amidst the raging emotions and the life-long misery that would not fade in this world, his eyes were so full of eternal joy. The joy of discovering that a lost child was lost no more.

The feelings were unclear and confusing, reaching out and taking hold, but as of yet not ready to be fully claimed into the heart of the man. Still, he let it enter in, allowing it to heal what it could and give him the strength to walk forward and let his father gather him into his arms... without any trace of fear. He could feel warmth. He could feel trust. He could feel love.

"Ada..." he whispered. "I missed you so..."

Elrond began to cry. His recollection of a similar conversation nearly a month past, begun the same way, lingered still with him. This time though, he was determined to finish it. "The Valar are so merciful to my family," he murmured, his heart full of gratitude. He kissed his son's cheek, burying his face into the dark tresses of the man's hair. In this moment, if he never had to let go of him again, he would have been content.

At one point, Elrond looked up to gaze at his twin sons and Legolas. Eyes filled with tears, he thanked them with a gentle smile, his joy beyond words. His gratitude could only be understood in the language of the heart. Though he felt incredible guilt and unsettling fear, he pushed it away for the time being. Right now, all he wanted to feel was whatever Estel needed to know the most.

The sense of completeness. The sense of family. The sense of... _home_.

Another being joined the group. Brought to the others by the musical sound of their voices, Gowen hobbled up to them on his crutches. His eyes were full of wonder as he heard them converse. "Strider?" he said softly, garnering first the attention of Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir.

Legolas stepped forward first, his eyes alight. "Gowen. You made it here!" the prince stopped the teenager, gently touching his face so the boy would know where he was. Gowen smiled.

"Legolas! You are alive!" Gowen leaned on his rough crutches, bringing one hand up and wrapping it around the prince's. His sightless eyes still stared blankly ahead, but since the last time they had been together Legolas could see the change that had been wrought in them. Gowen was alive again.

Elladan and Elrohir followed the prince, both smiling identical smiles. "So this is Gowen. We have heard much of you, young one," Elrohir whispered to the boy.

Gowen turned vaguely to the elf twin's direction, his eyes brightening even further as he guessed who might be there. "Are you Elladan or Elrohir?" he asked, hope filling his voice.

Elladan smiled broadly. "Yes we are. And we are most honored to meet you." Gowen beamed shyly for a moment, but then remembered why he had come.

"Is Strider with you? Did you save him?"

"Yes child, he is here," Elladan let his hand press against the teenager's cheek, his heart beginning to overflow. "We got him out. But it was you who saved him."

For the first time, Aragorn looked up from Elrond's shoulder. Tears stained his fair face, but there was now more light mixed with the darkness of his eyes. He was finding his way farther along the road of his trials. "Gowen," he said softly in a choked voice, gently bidding his father let go so he could greet the blind boy.

Limping forward, Aragorn did not wait to let Gowen know he was there. He wrapped his arms around Gowen's slim body and held him close. Gowen tensed for a moment but then recognized the man quickly through touch and smell, and he relaxed into the embrace. He could feel Strider's body trembling, and he fearfully questioned, "Did they hurt you?"

Aragorn's eyes slid shut. "Yes," he said slowly. "They did hurt me. But without you, Little Brother, they would have killed me. Thank you," the ranger whispered as he enveloped the boy tighter into his arms. "Thank you for saving me."

"You saved me first," Gowen felt a rise of fear slid through his heart at the thought of his protector tormented by those he had known longer than he had known family. "I am sorry," he said softly, letting his hands bunch in the ranger's tunic.

"Don't be. You were my saving grace. If you had not directed Legolas so quickly, or decided not to trust him, I would have been lost." Aragorn looked up at his dear friend. Legolas was smiling at him and after a moment he walked up to the man and wrapped his arm around the ranger's shoulders. "Even a few hours longer... I wouldn't be here."

"Is Ralorn and the Guard gone now?"

"The Guard has been destroyed; it will hunt no one any longer. But Ralorn... I let him go."

"Let him go?" Gowen sounded confused. There was more to it than just that, he was sure of it, but it was a story that would have to wait for later.

Aragorn nodded even though the boy couldn't see it. He leaned his head to the side, touching Legolas' forehead with his own. "Yes. He is gone. He will never harm you again."

"Oh!" the ranger suddenly tensed and Gowen could tell Strider had just remembered something. Something wonderful.

"What?" Strider was searching for something, and the teenager's heart leapt with a sudden, unknown hope.

"This. I almost forgot about it." After a moment Gowen felt Strider open one of his hands and place something on his palm. As soon as his fingers closed around the small thing, Gowen's eyes went wide.

"Is it?..."

"It is." The man again embraced the boy. "I got it back to give to you."

Gowen let his fingers glide over the priceless gift he had been given. His walnut shell, the last link he had to the man he had known as father, completely unharmed. It was now Gowen's turn to cry as he held it close. He never dreamed he would ever get it back.

"And I promise you, Little Brother," Strider spoke gently. "I will not rest until I help you find what you have lost. You will know the joys of a family again," he smiled as the twins and Elrond joined the group embrace, all encircled in an endless flame of life and healing light. "I swear it."

00000000

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

Aragorn nodded and attempted to look reassuring. "I'll be fine."

It was time to bed down, and all that had traveled through the Misty Mountains were in desperate need of fearless sleep. Under the care of his father, any hurts the man had taken had been checked and re-bandaged if needed. He had bathed and dressed, then quickly escorted to his bedside. The twins, Legolas, and Gowen had all already said their biddings of peaceful sleep and left in search of their own. Well after sundown, only Elrond was awake with the man, almost afraid to leave him alone but knowing he must, and that Estel would not allow him to remain much longer.

As of yet, Aragorn would say nothing in regards of how he had received his wounds, though it did not take a lot of guessing for Elrond to know the truth. The elf lord had to go to his twin sons and to Legolas to elaborate, which they did, but not much. Memories far too painful, they could say little. While dealing with the ranger's injuries, Aragorn had begun to tense and flinch under the touch of his father. Hardly noticeable, but it grieved Elrond deeply.

Elrond stood and sighed quietly. "Then I will leave you to sleep. Promise me Estel, that you will call if you need anything?"

"Yes Ada. Thank you..." some of the tenseness that had begun to build between them faded for a moment as Aragorn looked up at his father in the eyes. "Thank you for helping me."

Elrond smiled gently. "Always Estel. You can always come to me for help."

Quickly so as to not test too much the ease his youngest had finally found, the elf lord stooped down and kissed his son on the forehead, "Until tomorrow Estel, sleep well."

Aragorn waited until his father had left the room and was most assuredly out of hearing range.

"Not likely," he groaned to himself. Half of him wanted his father to stay, the other did not. The latter had won the internal debate, even though he had felt it was wrong.

He was now back where it had all begun. In the darkness of his room, unmoving shadows began to play tricks on him, feigning movement and hidden secrets. Hidden things meant to hurt.

It was quiet. Yet every little noise was torture. Even the sounds of the rafters settling gently made him tense. Night sounds from outside kept him awake, his mind awaiting the supposed inevitable return of a being he knew to be dead.

He was alone. And the darkness had finally found the time and place to truly attack him. To really find a way into his heart. It was different than before. Before there was always someone there who understood. There were no claustrophobic walls surrounding him. There had been no reminder of the beginning or the end, only time. Though he desired above all else to live on, he could not stop the voices that seeped into his thoughts.

And they angrily, mockingly, harshly began to rip their way into the deepest recesses of his soul.

Failures returned to haunt him. Memories of battles gone cold, fights ending bitter, choices falling wrong rang ever strong in the forethought of his mind. Things he had presumably gotten over but the guilt remaining, covered up and settled deep so it would not trouble him... until now. Aragorn cringed, his body breaking out in a cold sweat.

Evil, horrid thoughts of the past slammed into his consciousness. And he could not escape it. He couldn't run away. He tried to fight against them with all his energy of heart, but how can you fight something so connected to you, so unexpected? He had little hold over them; but neither would he succumb to their will. Yet that did not stop them from trying. Another voice in his head kept saying that the demons were wrong, that he mustn't listen, but what choice did he have? He could not run away from himself. He couldn't let go of his body the way Elladan had back in the cave, he could not set himself free. As time stretched farther, the voices became darker and full of malice.

For hours they tormented him, beating and bruising his barely revitalized heart. Their lies clogged his senses. Their promises brought new darkness to his eyes.

'_Why?'_ he would painfully wonder so frequently during his suffering, the voice of his soul both small and weak when compared to the challenging rage of his demons. _'Why must I suffer like this? After all that has happened, why must I suffer the torment of myself along with the torment of my enemies? Why does it still have a hold on me?'_

At some points during the night he felt a dark, encompassing presence near him. It haunted him. It surrounded him. It tormented him. It drove him to fear and tears as it attempted to consume him. Invisible icy hands reached out to clutch his heart. He was lost in their voices and overpowering will.

All too soon it was too late to cry out. He tried but could not. Their hold on him was too strong. It stayed that way all through the night until dawn began to paint the sky with lighter colors. Only then did they begin to release him, easing up their attack. But it was not the end. Eyes bloodshot and limbs trembling, Aragorn buried himself deeper under the quilts, blocking his ears with his hands. All night he did not sleep. He knew there would be more to come if he did not find a way to make it stop.

In his tears he left imprints of unspoken prayers. Unspoken screams. Unspoken pleas. He could do naught of what he wanted. All he could do was listen. Listen and weep.

00000000

Aragorn never came down for breakfast the next morning. He had surprisingly remained in his room, trying to gather his wits again. There was no where else that he could think of as of yet that could shield him from the others. For a long time he had splashed cold water on his face, slowly regaining control. Yet as sure as he knew anything he knew this:

He couldn't say anything about the previous night. Literally, he could not.

Later into the morning Aragorn had chosen a favorite place on his balcony, breathing in the gallons of fresh mountain air mingled with a touch of Rivendell's calm sense of power and safety. He did feel safe here, parhaps even more than before; he knew he could never be caught again while within Imladris' walls. His safety was not something that concerned him anymore. It was something else.

Elladan found him first in that spot, in that mood. He found his younger human brother sitting quiet and still, unresponsive as he drew near. He was the one who had stated such a simple thing – and it went much deeper than either of them realized.

"Estel, you... you look terrible."

"I'm fine," Aragorn whispered, unable to say anything else. He wanted to, how he wanted to! But he couldn't. The words just wouldn't form.

Elladan shook his head. Though the young ranger's eyes were no longer bloodshot, the darkness in them had begun to wax strong again. He looked gaunt and worn down. Coming back home had not had the desired effect they had all hoped for. There seemed to be something else at work here.

"No, you're not fine. What's wrong Estel? Can I help?"

He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him so badly it hurt. But still, the words refused to come. His mind went blank of all that would have helped Elladan understand.

"I know," he replied heavily, his voice weighed down with the harrowing agony of his soul. Unconsciously, he pulled further away from his older brother. "I just... didn't sleep very well last night."

Though Elladan was more stubborn by nature, he sensed pushing the question wouldn't help either of them. "Do you need anything?"

"No," came the whispered response. "I just... I would like to... be alone."

Aragorn felt like it wasn't even him speaking anymore. Like something else was controlling his voice now. He knew in his heart that being alone was the last thing that he wanted right now. But that didn't matter to what his response had been.

'Please,' he begged in his mind. 'Don't go...'

But Elladan could not see through the invisible wall of defense that had been built in the man's eyes, he could not see nor sense what the other really wanted. He did look a little hurt that his offer of help was being denied. "If that's what you would prefer, then I will oblige. I will check on you periodically, all right?"

Aragorn felt his head nod a little, but no response was forthcoming. Inside himself, Aragorn felt like screaming. Crying. Slamming his fist into the stone wall behind him. But he could do nothing. He could only watch Elladan leave. His heart had been slapped silent.

He had been taken over by demons of memory. Of confusion. Of loss. Created and encouraged by the suffering of the past weeks, they were not ones to be swept away. It only grew worse when he was alone.

00000000

"Ada, I'm worried about Estel."

Elladan confronted his father almost as soon as he had left his little brother alone. He found Elrond in his study, thumbing through a book for Valar-knew-what. Almost immediately as Elladan spoke, the elf lord stopped, set the book aside, and gave his eldest his full attention.

"Did you look in on him like I requested?"

"Yes, but something's wrong. He's not himself." Elladan was acting nervous; he was having trouble keeping firm eye contact with his father.

"What happened?"

"He was out on his balcony when I walked in. He looked terrible Ada; he said he did not sleep well last night. He looked exhausted, frightened even. Last night he seemed to be doing better, but now..." Elladan struggled to continue. "It is as though the darkness in him has spread, though I do not know why."

Elrond let his head bow forward, his eyes shutting for a moment. He was caught in indecision. In his heart he did not want the man to remain alone, it could easily prove dangerous after what he had been through... but it was too soon for him to be forcing out answers so he would know how to help. He did not yet know what was going through the young Dùnadan's head, only time would tell.

"Elladan," he murmured, gesturing his son forward. "Come here."

Elladan walked to him and sat in a chair close by, pulling it closer to his father. When he stopped moving, Elrond looked up at him.

"This is difficult..." the elf lord said, not really knowing what to say. "... to deal with. It is no simple matter. We will have to take each day as it comes Elladan. For right now, I think it would be best to leave Estel alone as little as possible."

"But he said-"

"Do not believe it. No one ever wants to be alone, even after events as traumatic as what has happened. He may have said he wanted to be alone, but it was not him saying it. Do you understand?"

Elladan nodded, his eyes locked on the elf lord's.

"If he does not have a better night tonight, I will give him something to help him sleep. His mind needs care, but his body does too. He cannot continue to go without sleep. Elladan-" Elrond's voice caught a little. "Right now all we can do is let him know we're here for him. If we can hold to that, he can come back to us whole."

"Ada, I fear for him." Elladan's grey eyes grew soft and sad. "I just want to let him know that I'm sorry. I owe him so much."

"Then go be his brother and his friend." Elrond said, taking both his eldest son's hands in his own. "Not his bodyguard, not his shield against hurt... just let him know you trust him to make it through on his own with you at his side. Forcing him to confront his fears would be too dangerous to try at this point. He just needs to know you care, and right now that is the best you can do for him. I will do what I can, and if anything changes I'll let you know what else you can do. But for right now, that should be enough."

Elladan nodded a bit heavily, squeezing his father's hands. "I will. Thank you Ada."

"Go find your brother and Legolas. Even Gowen could help here. Tell them what to do. Stay with Estel, talk to him, and try to get him to both eat and walk around. Tomorrow, if he hasn't had a good night, we'll move up to the next level. But for today, you know what to do."

Elladan nodded again and made to stand. Just before walking away, he hesitated. "Ada, how is Arwen?"

Elrond's face again became grave. "She'll be all right. She too, will need time. If you get the chance, go pay her a visit as well. But I would rather that you focus on your little brother."

"I understand. I just wanted to hear it from you." Elladan turned around and this time he left the room.

Elladan quickly recruited his twin and Legolas, and together they went to Estel's room. Though slightly disheartened by the near unresponsiveness of the young man, they refused to let Aragorn be alone. With no real set plan, they set out to bring him out of his shell. They told stories, joked around, and spoke of anything and everything they could think of. Never once did any of them make mention of the previous month. As time went on, Aragorn began to respond to their lighthearted bantering and eventually joined in, even though it felt only half-hearted. His eyes remained ever dark with heavy hurt. Yet though it did not readily show, the ranger was undoubtedly grateful for their thoughtfulness.

Later in the afternoon, Gowen joined the little family circle. The three elves and the human warmly welcomed him into their midst. Soon Elladan and Elrohir had the teenager laughing so hard with the stories they would tell he had tears rolling down his cheeks, holding his sides for support. For a few of the better stories, Aragorn nearly joined him.

As the day began to fade to night, Gowen turned to the ranger and asked him a rather random question that had been bothering him for a while, even before he had made it to Rivendell.

"Why could Tole find you, even so far away? I have often wondered why he knew how to find you while we traveled home."

Only Gowen parhaps could have asked a question so bold, but Aragorn did not take it badly at all.

The ranger gave a small smile as he thought about it. "... Tole... from the beginning that stallion follows me like I'm his mother."

"But why?"

"Well, then let me tell you about the first time we met." Aragorn answered, stretching slightly and launching into the story with a mixed emotion of regret and joy. "Parhaps that will help."

There was a special time of year during the late months of spring when a herd of wild horses would travel very close to the realm of Rivendell, knowing the valley would be safe during the time of foal birthing. In the valley enemies were fewer and the protection vast. During the late winter months they would claim a large section of the wilds, welcoming new additions to the herd until all the mares had given birth before taking their wandering closer to the land of Rohan.

When Aragorn had reached his late twenties the twins decided to take him to visit the herd. This herd had been coming close to Rivendell for many generations, and every few years the twins loved to go and seek them out. This time, they took their little brother with them.

The herd was deep in the mountains at this point, nearly ready to depart again for the ranges closer to the south. Nearly all the foals had been born and only a few mares were left, still awaiting the time to drop their young. By the time the twins and Aragorn had discovered the herd, only two mares remained deeply in foal.

Aragorn loved watching the herd. He would sit for hours at a time, watching the magnificent beasts play, eat, and interact with each other. He took on a special fondness for the mares still in foal, particularly one with a unique coat pattern of deep copper. She was beautiful. When the ranger pointed the mare out to his brothers, they agreed with him, assessing by her build that her foal would be tall and strong when it came.

Two nights after finding the herd, Elladan woke Aragorn up from a dead sleep, warning him of danger nearby. Wargs were stalking close, Elladan told him, and they all needed to be ready in case the creatures attacked. Since there were only the three of them Aragorn feared little for his safety and his brothers, knowing they could escape easily if the need should arise. He did worry, however, for the herd hidden in the valley nearby where they were.

Just before dawn Aragorn and the twins heard the wargs catch something unlucky enough to become their prey. Following the sounds of the fight for about ten minutes from where they had made their base camp, they discovered the mare Aragorn had favored, badly injured and surrounded by five wargs. She must have left the herd and gone to seek cover to have her child. But what frightened the hunters the most was that the mare was no longer pregnant; she had already given birth to her foal. Nearby and hidden in the forage lay a tiny colt she had brought into the world only minutes before.

The wargs jumped her at once and the fight resumed. By the time Aragorn and the twins broke up the fight and killed the wargs, it was too late. The mare was already dead.

Aragorn was the one to find the foal hidden ten feet away from his mother. After a few wobbly attempts the colt gained his feet and the newborn left the forage to make his way slowly toward the others. Young and immature though he was, the colt could smell death in the air and shied away from the source, not recognizing his mother. Instead, he stopped by the ranger's side and rubbed his head against the man's thigh.

It was the beginning of a deep and loving friendship.

"I did say Tole would follow me like I was his mother, and the truth is that I really did become his mother. When the mare died, he chose me to protect him, and never once have I violated his trust. He has returned my love and care of him with fierce loyalty."

"So he is wild by birth." Gowen was fascinated. "But he was wild... how did you tame him?"

"I didn't have to. He chose me. He was born in the wilds, but since he was young raised in Rivendell. The combination of the wild heart and the wise mind has made him strong in more ways than one. While I travel alone, he is my best friend." Aragorn laughed softly. "He is so protective of me, but he listens when I say I'm fine." He winked at his brothers and Legolas.

Gowen laughed. "I don't know if we should consider that a good thing."

"Hey – hey!" the ranger shook his head indignantly as the Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas all laughed loudly, but then chuckled along with them. Parhaps Gowen was right about that one.

Elrond walked in at that moment. He smiled gently at the scene in front of him. "Forgive me for interrupting," he said, breaking them all out of their mirth. "But I fear it is time for select members of this group to get some rest."

The twins groaned in a plea to be left alone a while longer, but Elrond was firm. He took Gowen with him and left with the warning to the others that they had better find their own ways out to their own rooms before he led them out by their pointed ears.

As they turned to leave, Aragorn gave each of them a brief but full embrace. "Thank you," he whispered to them. "Thank you for helping me today."

"We'll be here as long as it takes, Estel." Elrohir told him. "Don't you question time, or our love."

"You will always have us to lean on. If you need anything, you know who to ask." Elladan playfully ruffled his hair.

Legolas held him the longest. "Much may have changed, but not the way we care about you."

When he was finally left alone, Aragorn could feel it. Could feel both the love and the trust his family had left for him to use, but also the ravenous obscurity that seemed to threaten only him.

Because of that mark it took much longer for the darkness around him to pull him in. But tonight it felt stronger than before, more cruelty and hatred behind its wall of deepening loss. It again trapped him where he lay, invisibly constricting his voice and harnessing his limbs down so he could not move. Was it possible to feel this dark and cold? It felt as though the chill went deeper than skin, deeper the bones. It was cutting off all else, touching his very soul. It spread through him like poison in his veins.

Aragorn clutched his hands to his heart, closing his eyes tightly. Despite his efforts the tears still fell. He still trembled. Over and over again, he was reminded of his weaknesses and failures. So many times, he was nearly overtaken. He gave no sound to anyone outside his room though, he couldn't. He tried, but still failed. He could feel his heart rise and call out, but the plea was choked off. He was left alone all night.

00000000

Elrond could tell the next morning that once again Aragorn had not slept. The aura of agonized darkness around the man was as thick as ever. Knowing that Aragorn would never tell him what was really going on yet or accept any herbs to help him sleep, Elrond disguised some into the man's evening meal. Though he only picked at his food, he must have eaten enough. Within the hour Aragorn left his family, saying he felt inclined to sleep. Elrond prayed it would be for the best.

He was wrong.

Aragorn quickly discovered that he was trapped now in his mind. The drug he had been slipped had taken away all the defense he had previously retained in the past two nights, the only defense he had against his demon's desires for him to fall into despair. And they were now more prevalent, stronger, and angrier. Dreams many times worse than the ones he had endured the first night began to play; eerie, angry, and full of wrath. All too soon Aragorn was lost to his nightmares and their whispered lies turning him upside down.

The dark presence had returned, this time even more powerful, even more encompassing. Its touch seemed to freeze the room. Aragorn pulled away from it, knowing he could not fight something that wasn't real save to his mind. He couldn't battle it with the sword. Couldn't frighten it with an arrow. He had nothing to use against this evil thing that now was beginning to take form, gaining for itself both a name and a face.

Aragorn watched the darkness shape itself into the form of a being similar to his own stature. Only this one distinctly had pointed ears – an elf. This one had black, gaping holes for eyes. He was clothed in shadow. For a long time, they stared at each other. The dark being made no move, for he knew he didn't need to. Unfathomable fear was beginning to flow from the man. Then as if to help the ranger know who he was, lifted one hand to where Aragorn could clearly see it.

The man's eyes grew wide and this time he cried out unrestrained, his breathing coming in quick and sharp. The hand was missing two fingers.

The ranger slid off the bed and backed away from it, down on his hands and knees. He bumped into a table and heard something drop and shatter. Still, it did not stop him. Breathing harshly, cold sweat again breaking out over his body, Aragorn backed himself into a corner and pressed his face away from the creature of darkness. Around him, the shadows of his room began to deepen, spreading until he could see nothing other than himself and evil presence that now had a name.

"Leave me!" he cried, clutching his head between his hands and attempting to urge the being away with his voice. Despite his wounds and weariness of heart, his voice was loud, strong, and desperate. "Be gone! Leave me! Leave me!"

The creature hissed, and gathered such a force around him that Aragorn could no longer call out for his departure. The force began to surround the ranger's body, consuming all the warmth, the light, and the joy out of its prey.

The man began to scream, his body drenched in cold sweat, tears of fear falling down his face. "NO! ADA! HE'S COME BACK! ADA! IT'S MAYRONIEL! ADA, DON'T LET HIM TAKE ME! NO! PLEASE NO!"

A chill, deeper than any he had ever known before, started to encompass his spirit, slowly draining his energy to scream out. Aragorn slammed his bared fists into his wall, leaving several deep indents in the wood. While there was still breath in his body, he would fight against this darkness, even if it would take his life in the end. The combination of the evil presence of Mayroniel and the powerful voices of his demons stole his breath and throttled his cries.

Light, sweeter and clearer than he had ever seen before, began to fill his eyes. The evil being began to draw back, shrieking in sudden anger and fear. The voices began to fade away. Aragorn stared wide-eyed at the light, so pure and free that his tormenters fled entirely.

Upon hearing his cries, one by one his family had rushed into his room. Elrond discovered the man first. A wash basin had been knocked to the floor and it had shattered, spreading water over the rug. There were also traces of blood on the floor, leading to the corner where Elrond found Aragorn. After his attackers had fled from his mind, Aragorn had relaxed into the corner of his room, shaking still and breathing harshly, but no more was he frantic. His face had relaxed, lined in both sweat and tears. He watched the forms of his father, brothers, and best friend, never coming closer or pulling farther away, trying to gauge whether or not they were real.

"Estel," Elrond whispered, kneeling down and trying to bring the man closer to them. "We are here. It's all right now. You're safe."

Slowly, Elrond coaxed his young son out of the corner he had withdrawn to. Slightly ashamed that he had called out so frenetically but forever thankful someone had answered his call, he allowed himself to be pulled into his father's embrace.

"They won't leave me alone..." he murmured softly into the folds of Elrond's sleep tunic. His body had stilled, but his spirit was far from calm. He knew the being and the voices that had tormented him since his time in Ralorn's cave weren't real, but they remained with him nonetheless. He knew he had lost something that they didn't want him to find again. The darkness that now edged his eyes was still so thick, but thinning now that they were gone.

"Then parhaps... there is something that can be done about that." Elrond told him, and with a gentle prod, helped Aragorn rise.

Elladan stepped forward, reaching out as though to reassure his little brother, but Aragorn unexpectedly pulled away from him. The elf twin stopped. Elrond looked at his oldest, shaking his head sadly. 'No,' he seemed to say with his eyes. 'Now is not the time.'

00000000

"Come with me Estel." Elrond gently took his youngest son by the hand and led him away from his room, walking through the halls and corridors until they were outside and heading due west into the forest around Rivendell. Early dawn filled the sky.

"Ada?" Aragorn finally managed to catch his father's attention after they had traveled a short distance. "Where are we going?" his voice still shook slightly from pain, but the fear was gone from his voice now.

Elrond sighed, but did not respond right away. Presently they came to a small clearing circled by tall thick trees, a small mountain spring running through the middle of it, gently bubbling over a natural miniature waterfall. Next to the spring several smooth rocks outlined the gentle rushing of the water, and beyond that only grass and leaves carpeted the ground.

The eldar gently directed the young ranger to a spot next to the small waterfall. "Sit here." Taking hold of Aragorn's shoulders he eased the man into a sitting position, his legs crossed, before sitting down in the same fashion in front of him.

It took Elrond a few moments of peace to sort out in his mind what he wished to say, for so much of it was difficult. The only sounds in the clearing for several moments was Aragorn's deep, weary breathing that spoke of nothing but the heartache that Elrond could feel almost as acutely as if it were his own.

"My son," Elrond whispered, finally reaching forward and taking Aragorn's bruised hands in his own. "I know what it is like to face turmoil and heartache, and I know..." he paused, clearing his thoughts. "...what it can do to a young heart. I know the pain you have taken feels as though it will rip you in two and you must know that more than anything I wish I could erase the memory and take the hurt from your eyes... but I cannot." Elrond locked sad grey eyes on those of his son, the silvery orbs reflecting the sad, dark, weary confusion that stood in the depths of the elf lord's. "I can only try to help you overcome what you have been forced to endure. But you must listen to me and do as I say. It is not hard. Do you understand Estel?"

"Yes Ada," Aragorn nodded slowly, unsure of what his father had in mind. He would soon found out.

"Close your eyes, _ion-nin. _Do not fear, I am right here." Elrond's hand brushed over Aragorn's eyes, forcing them to close.

Aragorn's hands tightened on those of his father's. "Ada..." his voice was laced with renewed fear. Just shutting his eyes brought back the hint of the darkness that had so consumed him for the past several weeks and had increased in ferocity over the last three days.

'_I'm not alone, I'm not alone...'_ his heart whispered desperately to ease the reality of the voices building in strength again.

"Be still, all is well. Now Estel, listen to my voice. Listen carefully."

Aragorn latched onto the familiar tone that was his father's, striving to listen to only that and nothing else. Already in the back of his mind the agonized voices of the demons that haunted him rose, their wicked promises bringing tears back to his eyes.

"Estel, though you are not immortal, you still have a connection to the world around you that is akin to the way elves are bound to Arda and all good living things. You cannot hear the voice of the trees, nor understand the motion of the ground beneath your feet, but you can still recognize the gentle hum of the song of life around you. Estel, I want you to listen. Search for the connection you have lost. You may not have realized it but all your life you have laid claim to such a tune. When you were trapped under the mountain surrounded by nothing but rock the song was taken from you when fear began to consume your heart. You must find it again now that you are free. You know of the beauty and wonder around you. Listen to it... let it heal the wounds within you."

Elrond lifted one hand out of Aragorn's grasp and placed it on one side of the young man's face, drawing their heads together until their foreheads were touching.

"I am here; I will keep the dark voices away until they cannot harm you any longer. If you wish to speak feel free to say what is on your mind and I will listen. You are strong enough to overcome your fear my son. Let your heart beat freely again. Let it go, and return to me whole."

Aragorn felt his father lean in against him, holding him up. Elrond ceased to speak, but rather content to let Aragorn take in what had been said and make his own choices now.

Aragorn stilled his breathing and focused on his father's words, taking them into heart and mind. Though his eyes were shut, the ranger suddenly realized that the voices were diminishing from his mind, leaving behind nothing but the gentle sense of peace he had all but forgotten... the peace of knowing he was truly safe.

Several silent minutes passed by as the young ranger struggled to reacquaint himself with the world around him. Slowly, the familiarity of the forest returned to gently play a song he had long ago accustomed to Rivendell and her woods. The sweet melody of the birds overhead, the softness of the wind as it blew across his shoulders, the warmth of the sun in the sky, the smell of the earth below. It was almost as if he had never noticed them before, and through his torment it felt as if he never had. With his eyes closed his other senses were assaulted with what the world had to offer, and after several minutes the very touch of a falling leaf against his cheek from the trees above helped warm and sooth the cold ache in his heart.

Yet there was always the part of him that could not let go, could not forget what had happened and how it had all turned out in the end. The balance, or lack thereof, of the good and evil sides was unsettling to him still and as much as hunting down the connection Elrond had described to him had calmed him, the unease always kept capturing it just beyond his reach.

'_If you wish to speak feel free to say what is on your mind and I will listen...'_

Aragorn had no doubt that Elrond knew and could comprehend the question that had so confused him in the dark hours he had endured. He knew with the unsettling void in his mind as it was he could never fully heal. He needed to know.

"Ada?"

Elrond shifted slightly, as though waking from a deep and revitalizing dream. The song of the forest, of Arda itself had been singing in his mind, soothing his heart in a way nothing else could. Though he was loathe to leave it, he still remembered he was not out here for himself, but for his son.

"Yes?"

"Why does the press of evil feel stronger than that of good?"

Elrond let go entirely of his dream and focused intently on Aragorn's question. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

Aragorn sighed. "It is said that good can always conquer evil, does it not? If that is true, than why does evil continually press so many advantages over us? If the light is so strong, than why can it not destroy the darkness that can plague both the body and the spirit of any and all? It feels as though darkness has so much of an advantage over us, so much more life and will towards its cause. Strong enough to quench what is left of hope and life. I don't understand Ada. How can it be this way? Why is it this way?"

Elrond grew silent, pondering over the burning question. It was one he too had asked over several times in his long life, through times of suffering and hurt. Constantly evil seemed to hold the reins, overthrowing its enemy's defenses and relishing in the sight of frustration and pain. Taking all and giving nothing in return, it was against the way that good worked.

"That is quite a question Estel, one I hardly feel qualified to answer... but I shall try my best." The eldar drew in a hushed breath, deep in thought as he began to speak.

"Estel, when you are warm and you stand in a warm room, you don't notice much of a difference do you?"

Aragorn shook his head against his father's, slightly confused at the queer question. "No..."

"But when you are warm and you walk outside when the cold wind blows... you notice a difference then, correct?"

Aragorn nodded this time. "Yes."

"The same holds true when you reverse it and it is you who is cold and walking into a warm room. You can feel the difference."

Aragorn didn't respond this time, merely waited for his father to continue.

"Estel, I believe that free beings are naturally good. Hate, love, anger, joy... these are all emotions that one is taught throughout trails in their lives, as well as how to react to them. The evil that you feel does parhaps feel more powerful because of the contrast it has on what you have known. You know the light; you have all your life. You have developed a caring and generous heart because of it. You care deeply for the ones who cannot defend themselves, because you understand what it is to feel like you can't. There is no comfort to anyone in knowing you are alone and must fend for yourself, but even when you, Estel, were in horrible conditions, you gave hope to others and gave it freely.

"Yet still, you were taken to a place where the light was gone, you could feel so many differences from what you are accustomed to and darkness was allowed to enter your heart and leave the wounds that it has. It is like you walking outside in the middle of winter without a cloak, without a defense against what you know to be harmful to you. It is a horrible barrier to overcome, young one, but darkness is not and will never be more powerful than light, not ever Estel. At times it may seem more cunning and crueler to limits we do not always understand, continually seeming to have everything to persist with the quest to cover the world in shadow, bondage, and despair. Yet we still hinder it... we still fight it... and to this day we have kept the evil from accomplishing what it still seeks in life."

Aragorn's breath hitched slightly, betraying the fact that he was close to tears. "Throughout this venture it felt as though everything good that happened to me was only luck. When Tole followed me... Arwen secretly helping me... Legolas finding me barely in time... the twins getting out of the cave alive... the fight with Mayroniel... the earthquake... coming home... it all feels wrong, happening in the order and form that it did. It's as though evil can move forward with a clear mind and good is constantly shrouded in uncertainty, leaving everything to chance. How can that be? Is that all this life is? We are lucky to make it through without giving in? We fight but evil remains... parhaps that is all it will ever be."

"No Estel," Elrond again touched his son's face with his hand. "What happened to you was not all only good fortune. It was the stubborn, fighting will of your own soul to remain within this world. That is what evil does not have and will never understand. Hope. Whether you realize it or not, you exist solely on the light of hope and faith that burns bright and deep inside your heart, the desire you have to defend and uphold those whom you love. Evil has no such power and will never understand the potential of an individual. Evil cares little for its allies, there are no friends among them. In the world they know, life is expendable and in the end worthless. All they understand is battle and the destruction of its foes, many times even the destruction of each other. They look to the counting strength and willingness to submit without knowledge; we look to the heart of every fighter and their loyalty. When you know what you are fighting for, they have no power over you; they have no power to turn your heart in the slightest. That is how we overpower evil and it is also how one day we shall overthrow it."

Elrond gently brushed his thumb over Aragorn's cheek, wiping away the tears the man was finally allowing to fall. "You have more conviction in one memory then Morgoth will ever have in his entire being. You have seen both the light and the dark and you know which is more powerful in the end. You know what you want for you, your family, your friends, one day even your children and the generations to come. That is what you fight with - weapons you cannot see and therefore what your enemy cannot overthrow unless you let them. It is something no evil creature will ever truly be able to take from you. Ilúvatar never intended evil to exist in the first song of the world, and evil has no place in the end. One day, it will be no more."

"Shadow has not harmed you Estel. It can only cover you in doubt when you cease to see a way out. The smallest candle can still chase away and consume darkness, it still can shine in the most dense black Mordor has to offer. There is light that no shadow can touch. You have all you need to survive in the most dire of circumstances; all you need now is to believe you can." Elrond's grey eyes bore straight into the silver ones inches from him. "You can, Estel. I know you can. You have nothing holding you back but your own hesitation. Let it go _ion_... doubt no more."

The man sat for just a moment, reading the truth in the other's eyes. He found such faith in Elrond's gaze, faith in what the eldar knew the ranger was capable of. With tears in his eyes, Aragorn wrapped his arms around his father. To him it felt as though strength was beginning to flow into him, something he had never known before, like the most powerful form of healing that never would have been found in the shelves of his father's herbs confidence and hope.

"Thank you Ada," He whispered after a short while. Already he felt revitalized, bolder and stronger now that his shaken resolve had renewed itself. He had found the lost connection that made him who he was. "It does hurt still... but I do not feel lost any longer."

"How do you feel now Estel?"

Aragorn laughed softly, and for the first time since coming home there was no darkness in his eyes. "I feel I can be as strong as I believe I can... for now I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, which side I fight for and why."


	17. Understanding Destiny

Chapter 16

**Understanding Destiny**

Legolas sat silently on the windowsill, staring aimlessly out into the beautiful forest. It had been hours since Aragorn had left with Elrond and despite the knowledge that he knew the elf lord would keep both of them perfectly safe, Aragorn's behavior as of late frightened him and he was worried. He wished he knew what he could do to help, to heal, but he just didn't know. All he could be was a support and a friend, secretly praying that he would know what to do when called upon and that everything would turn out all right in the end.

His sharp ears caught the sounds of a familiar step and turned his head from the trees to the door just in time to see the handle turn and the wood creak open. The person slipped inside but within the doorway froze a moment, not expecting to be caught so quickly.

Yet even caught by surprise as he was, the figure walked as purposefully as physically possible into the room before Legolas could even react.

The prince jumped down from the windowsill but did not move from where he landed, for he was quickly left without room. He knew the person walking in, but the manner in which he had done so was so unlike how he had been acting lately that for a moment Legolas was taken aback.

The man stopped, unsure now what to do. He had not treated his friend or his brothers in the gratitude-filled way that he should have. He had shut himself off from them, lost and confused at every turn of events. Would they forgive him of his wrongs?

"Estel?" Legolas' voice was filled with wonder and no small amount of awe. What had Elrond done to bring about such a change? There was no darkness in the young man's gaze, only traces of weariness remained now that would most certainly fade with time.

The tone of Legolas' voice was all it took. Choking on the lump in his throat, Aragorn closed the distance between them and wrapped the prince deeply into his arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that he could not as a repressed sob escaped him instead. He hadn't realized until that moment he had been just as afraid of losing the prince as he had remaining in Ralorn's clutches... no, worse. Sorrow more severe than anything he had ever felt seemed to echo and vibrate through his touch, very clear to the one whom he held.

Legolas was shocked by the contact and it took him the briefest of moments to respond, gathering the man tightly into his arms. Painfully accustomed now to the near unresponsiveness of his friend, it greatly surprised him to see Aragorn so badly shaken... but yet himself again.

"Estel? What's wrong?"

Aragorn tightened his arms around his friend. "Forgive me Legolas. I am so sorry for the way I have treated you... so sorry..." the last of his apology was cut off as the tears fell from his eyes, as he hunched his shoulders and willed his friend to listen to him.

"Estel..." Legolas pulled the man away from him, catching his shoulders and forcing the ranger to look him in the eyes. His gaze was deep and piercing as he searched his friend's soul.

Aragorn took the unflinching gaze as one of disapproval and tried to shift out of the prince's grasp. He knew he did not deserve his old friend's forgiveness. Did not deserve it, but oh, he wished for it with every breath he took. He loved and cared about the elf, he wanted to be worthy of the other's trust. Rejection was something Aragorn knew he did not want to see come into his friend's eyes, it would tear him apart. Quickly, he turned toward the door.

Legolas easily halted the man's attempted retreat and again locked his gaze with Aragorn's now tear-lined one. Wanting to be doubtless, he searched for any sense of unease, any madness, any fear, any gut-wrenching hurt. His gaze softened as he could only find pleading and the smallest trace of the pain he had once been consumed with. Estel was back, Elrond had cured him. Somehow, miraculously, Legolas was again seeing the silver eyes he knew so well, filled with every sense of life once more.

"Forgive you for what, mellon nin?" his voice was slightly rough. "For searching to find peace? You have no need of forgiveness from me for that." Legolas smiled, really smiled, brushing the backs of his fingers against his friend's cheek. He was so relieved Aragorn was all right, his face filled with joy.

Aragorn's eyes widened at the quickly garnered response and the unspoken acceptance, knowing immediately that he was forgiven. But how could that be? "You've forgiven me?" he whispered, amazed that he had been accepted so easily. "Why?"

Legolas sighed, but the smile did not leave his face. "Because you mean more to me than your actions... actions that were not entirely of your making. And I made a promise, did I not?" he repeated the words of that night in the mountains. "I will not leave you. I will never leave you."

"Legolas," Aragorn again pulled his friend against himself. "Thank you... for understanding."

"And thank you Estel, for holding true."

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When Aragorn limped into the stables, he noticed first the sweet, encompassing smell of fresh hay and the even stronger scent of the horses. He walked slowly through the main walkway, bypassing the stalls, allowing himself to be guided with one hand on the stall doors. The aging yet sturdy rafters had remained the same for many, many years, and the familiarity of it was soothing to the man.

Several horses, sensing a new being in their midst, poked their heads out over their doors and eyed this man with curiosity. Some even nickered as he walked past, recognizing him by both stature and smell. The ranger smiled, patting some as he walked past.

Upon reaching a particular stall, Aragorn hesitated and looked over the door, for no horse had come forward. He noted that this door looked newer, as was the latch holding it closed. Folding his arms and leaning forward over the wooden door, he gazed fondly at the stallion within. Curled up on the ground and nestled deep in his bedding, one leg stark white with bandages against his deep chestnut color, Tole lay dozing.

Sliding the latch aside, Aragorn entered the stall. Tole's ears cocked forward at the sound of an approaching presence, but made no real effort to defend himself for he knew he was safe. His front leg, severely injured by Mayroniel, had been cleaned up, cared for, and bound. Though it was no longer deadly, it still gave the stallion great pain and as of yet Tole had made no attempt to leave his stall to venture outside. Content for now to recover and relax, he had simply been waiting for a special visitor he knew would come.

Tole lifted his head and nickered as Aragorn approached and with difficulty knelt to the ground. Finding no words to express what was in his heart; Aragorn settled down at Tole's head and wrapped his arms around the stallion's neck, stroking him gently. Tole grunted happily and let his head settle into the ranger's lap, overjoyed that his chosen had come at last.

Aragorn sat with him for a long time, not speaking, not needing to. He let his hands stroke and rub down the stallion's face, ears, neck, and shoulder. Occasionally he leaned forward far enough to bury his face against Tole's warm neck, savoring and taking in the sweet smell that was unlike any other in the world to him.

"Ai Tole," he finally whispered, fighting back tears that fell anyway. "I don't know what I would have done without you. You saved my life boy. You saved my life."

Tole only nickered, a strong sigh rippling through his body, his dark brown eyes deep and loving, as though he had understood every word.

"He was only returning the favor."

Aragorn looked up at the new voice and quickly recognized Elrohir now leaning over the stall door, a length of rope coiled over his shoulder and a small black herb sack in his hand. The elf twin smiled at the scene in front of him before he too entered the stall.

"When he finally got back home with Gowen, that leg would barely hold him up. Ilúvë feared he would go lame..." Elrohir stroked the stallion's side with a gentle, sad smile on his face as he recounted the unease of the head overseer of the stables. "Another few miles probably would have. But the Valar have been watching over you, faithful one." He whispered to the horse. "They have heard the call of your heart." For a few days Tole's future had been uncertain, yet now he lived with the promise that soon he would be able to run again like before.

Carefully unwrapping Tole's bandage Elrohir expertly inspected the healing wound, and with a gentle hand, opened the herb bag he had brought with him and spread its contents over the wound. Slowly, Tole's leg relaxed as the painkiller did its work. The horse sighed again.

Still not ready to let go of his stallion, Aragorn looked up at his older brother, his eyes full of pain but no darkness as there had been before. "Elrohir, I-"

"Don't." Elrohir cut him off, his voice and eyes firm. "Don't even say it. There is nothing to forgive, little brother." Voice softening, Elrohir scooted closer and wrapped his arms around the man. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Aragorn neither flinched nor pulled away from Elrohir's embrace, something that surprised both he and his brother a little, yet something they were both very happy to have happen again.

"Thank you Elrohir," Aragorn said softly, his grey eyes dancing again. "Thank you for knowing."

Elrohir touched his cheek with the same sad smile on his fair face, knowing still that there was much left to be done. "I fear another will not be so easy. His heart is torn, Estel." Elrohir said to him. "Find him, and make it whole."

"What must I do?" Aragorn asked, unsure. Elrohir only shook his head and smiled before placing his hand over the man's heart.

"Listen to this. It brought you home, it helped you heal and whether you admit it or not, you have the touch of a healer inside. It is that that discovers the paths of healing in others as well." He stroked Tole once more, and then stood. "The herbs will make him a little drowsy. You should be safe to leave him now."

And with that, as though the conversation had been nothing more than a few comments about the weather, Elrohir adjusted the rope on his shoulder and disappeared beyond the stall door, a merry twinkle in his eyes.

Aragorn shook his head and carefully shifted Tole's head out of his lap and back into the soft hay bedding. Tole barely noticed. Already so far gone to sleep that the herbs Elrohir had given him had little effect in the end. Silently Aragorn passed through the stall door and slid the lock shut, appraising the stallion one last time before leaving in search of his other older brother.

As he listened and glanced at each passing stall, the ranger tried to think through what he would say. Elladan always took things harder, more personally, then he ever should. It was wearying to the very core when thinking just how Elladan may have taken the past three days and the last contact they had had, even after all that he had already done. He needed to make the elder twin understand... he was free in the mercy of his brother, not pained in the wrongs of him.

Aragorn knew Elladan heard him long before the ranger discovered him. Surely, how could he not? The ranger shook his head. He should have known Elladan would have been with the mares. Unlike his twin he had always preferred them to the stallions, and it was one of the things that set him and Elrohir apart.

"Elladan?" leaning up against a stall doorway, he kept one hand on the latch in preparation to enter.

The elder twin slowly turned from his mare, keeping the brush in his hand and giving his human brother a hurt but calm look. The very sight of it broke the diplomatic gaze Aragorn was trying to give him, his grey eyes turning pained.

Aragorn was sure that he knew how to talk to Elladan; had put it together until what he wished to say was clear to him. But he was not prepared for his brother to act as though he had shut him out. Words of an apology he had not thought of previously tumbled from his lips.

"Elladan, I'm so sorry."

Elladan turned away, not trusting his voice as of yet, and in a therapeutic way began to brush his horse again, his hand loose but consistent in the patterns it knew so well. The elf shut his eyes as he did so. He was hurt, but not in the way Aragorn thought he was.

Aragorn was not easily thrown off, but though he wished that he could just leave the stables and do nothing more, there were things he needed to say. Whether Elladan wanted to hear it or not, he needed to say it. He slipped through the stall door and stood near the horse's head. The mare nuzzled the human gently, familiar with the man and at ease in his presence. Aragorn brought one hand up in habit, gently rubbing a special spot behind the horse's ear and making her nicker in contentment. The man's full attention however, remained directed to the only other being in the airy stall.

"Elladan please," Aragorn whispered, unsure of how to continue. That first night back in his old room had been hard... so very hard. The ranger could vividly remember how long and painful it had been. There was no relief by the second night, or the third. Elrond had taught him that when he took a hurt, it would take time to heal no matter the type of wound. Even still, it did not excuse the fact that he had rejected his brother's desire to help him. "I was afraid, but I was not afraid of you."

A soft voice answered him from the other side of the mare. "Then why did you push me away? All I have ever wanted was to help you..." Elladan continued to work as he spoke what he could no longer withhold. "This entire mess began with my inability to listen, my ignorance when it came to understand another from so many years ago, and he took that out on you. I have so much to make up for, most of all to you... and you rejected me."

Aragorn could once again feel the tears welling up in his eyes, and he leaned closer to the neck of the mare to keep them hidden. "I never rejected you, but somehow I did not need that kind of comfort, not yet. You already helped me Elladan, you helped keep me alive when we were in the mountains and don't mistake the fact that it did only little to save me. It did more than parhaps you will ever know, and that was what you needed to do. That was not what I was missing to be at peace, I knew I had you by my side. I was missing something much different."

Elladan did not respond and Aragorn rushed on. "Elladan... please... don't shut me out. Don't repeat my mistake, one I wish I had not made. Yell at me, tell me I was wrong and I will agree without objection... but do not give me only your silence."

"Estel," the sounds of brushing ceased and Elladan's strong hand suddenly grasped the one that had been massaging the mare's ear, the elf's voice now overcome with sadness. "Forgive me my silence. I feared that even after all we had been though, in the end it wasn't going to pull through and I was still going to lose you..." Elladan walked around his mare and gave the man a steady gaze. "Often, I feared as such. I thought parhaps here at home you would find peace again, but I had failed to see what affect it would have on you, at least at first. I could not bear to hear you cry out in fear during the night, but now somehow I believe I understand."

"How?"

"Elrohir and I talked after Ada took you away." Elladan said by way of explanation. "He has always been the strong one, and I come here," the elf gestured loosely about the room, indicating his self-made isolation. "... caught between feelings of hurt and understanding while he greets you with open arms, accepting you back as I know I should."

Aragorn shook his head. "But you always take me back. Sometimes I fear that one day I will push you over the edge and you will never speak to me again, but always... you accept me back despite the pain I cause you." Aragorn watched his older brother carefully as he admitted the fault. "It's impossible for me to stay mad at you for very long under any circumstances, so why is it so hard for me to let you in when I may need you the most?"

Elladan smacked the ranger lightly on the side of his head, a fond smile breaking over the elf's face. "Parhaps I just need to learn to show you that I'll always love you no matter what."

Aragorn smiled back. "I do know." And for the first time since they had returned, he felt complete peace in his brother's presence, and the thought warmed his heart.

"So," Elladan said with finality in his tone that suggested a change of subject, a twinkle in his eye. "Shall we gut-spill a little more or are you going to help me take care of this old girl?" he asked the man, patting the mare's side. The mare turned her head and butted Elladan playfully, glad that she was going to be paid some attention again.

Aragorn nodded eagerly and accepted another brush from the twin, easily falling into the work that needed to be done. As they talked and laughed, he was thinking about what Elladan had said. He understood now more than ever before the duty of love an older brother can have for another, the responsibility they place on themselves as the teacher and protector of those they care about the most. Thanks to the time he had spent with Gowen, of whom had taught him more about the role of an older brother than anyone else, the ranger now was confident that he had discovered exactly why the twins often acted the way they did. And even though it felt childish to Aragorn, going to his brothers for help or support, it was good to know that the door would always be open and they would always be willing to offer aide just as he would be for them or anyone else. Such was the language of love between them all.

"Elladan?" Aragorn asked at one point in the conversation.

"Mmm?"

"Will you teach me how to ground-fight better?"

Elladan glanced at him over the mare's back, a light of pure excitement in his eyes. "Of course Estel."

"Soon?"

"Anytime you want."

"How about when we finish up here?"

Elladan laughed again, his heart now at ease. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

As they left the stables some time later, both were laughing, just like old times. Aragorn realized just how much he had missed his brothers. The light and joy they brought to his life was astonishing, and he prayed that it would never leave.

"Estel, look, Gowen is approaching us!" Elladan pointed to a hunched over figure some distance off, between them and the Last Homely House. Gowen was struggling on his crutches, weaving back and forth over the open field in search of the stables where his destination lay.

"Gowen!" Aragorn called out, catching the teen's attention. "Over here!"

Gowen perked up at the sound of the ranger's voice and immediately changed his course, hobbling over as fast as he could.

"Strider! There you are! I've been looking for you, Legolas told me you were looking for me."

"I was. I'm glad you found me Little Brother." Aragorn ruffled his hair. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Well I can see that if I don't take some action soon we won't get back home until nightfall." Elladan observed, gazing at the others with an amused, critical stare, as if he were sizing them up. "All right then," Smiling, he snatched up Gowen around the middle and set the boy up on his shoulders, crutches and all. "You both look beat, but I need to let Estel feel like he's got some dignity left." Elladan said with a mischievous smirk while winking at his little brother.

Aragorn only smiled and ground his knuckle into Elladan's ribs, electing a sharp cry of laughter from the twin. "Nah, Elladan just needs to feel young and strong. Age keeps catching up to him, you know."

Elladan sputtered as he tried to think of a sharp comeback while making violent gestures to his little brother, all of which Aragorn only laughed at heartily.

Gowen could only laugh as the brothers bantered back and forth. This joy was so welcoming and fulfilling, he couldn't remember the last time he had smiled so much.

"So what did you want to ask me?" Gowen managed to say before Elladan attempted to refute the reckless 'age' comment Aragorn had made.

Aragorn, still smiling as he walked next to his brother on the left side. "I wanted to ask you about your brother."

Gowen's face fell a little. Thinking about his brother hurt a lot most of the time, even here in the wondrous place of beauty and timelessness. Often, he felt it was a path ending dead, his hope of seeing his older brother alive again stretching to monstrous proportions. "Strider... I-"

"I promised that I would help you find your family, did I not?" Aragorn smiled fondly up at the boy. "Come on Gowen; tell me anything you can about your brother. What he looks like, what he used to do, where he might go. There must be a way to find him."

Gowen sighed, then paused for a moment, thinking. What harm could it do? He did want to know the truth at least. "He was much older than me. He must be in his late twenties by now. He was always more interested in healing than my father's trade. He has a strong, smooth voice and his hands were always gentle. He was as tall as an elf with dark, expressive eyes. I can still remember him as the last time I saw him. I never really needed to see him to know what he was thinking. Don's always wanted to help others. When my-"

"Wait a moment!" Elladan stopped walking; looking up at the teen on his shoulders with an appalled look on his face. "Don? You're brother's name is Don?"

"'Dan? What's wrong?" Aragorn asked of his brother cautiously as Elladan tiredly massaged his eyes with two fingers, smiling a silly little smile.

Elladan only laughed lightly, looking first at Aragorn, then up at Gowen. "It's just not possible..."

"What's not?"

"That his brother could be the same healer that allowed us to talk to an elf named Valan, who told us how to find you." Elladan shook his head. "This is madness... but I think I know where the one we search for is."

The boy atop his shoulders tensed. "You know my brother? You know Don?" Gowen looked down at Elladan vaguely, but his eyes sparkled more than any of them had ever seen before. "My brother is alive?"

"That, young human, would be quite a story," Elladan laughed as he began walking again. "Come with me you two. As soon as Ada gives Estel the go-ahead, we have one more journey to make."

00000000

Aragorn and Legolas walked slowly through Rivendell's gardens, encompassed entirely by the rich smells of the earth. The sight around them was beautiful and entrancing.

"Legolas," Aragorn said quietly at one point. At Elrond's request his arm was slung around the elf prince's neck, keeping both his balance and pressure off his still tender feet. It was either that or be confined to a chair for the rest of the evening.

"Mmm?" Legolas responded by way of answer, glancing occasionally at his friend, sharing his attention with his surroundings unlike Aragorn, who seemed completely enraptured by the gardens.

"Why is this place so ageless in such a time of change?" Aragorn whispered, letting his free hand brush through a garland of soft white petal flowers that had bloomed the same way at the same time for as long as he could remember.

"It would be easier to ask why the world changes at all, Estel." Legolas smiled fondly at his friend.

Aragorn laughed. "I know. I just..."

"Estel," Legolas cut him off, pointing at something some distance ahead. "Look."

"What do you see?" Aragorn tried to follow the elf's line of sight but could not seem to pinpoint exactly what Legolas had spotted.

Legolas was unmoved. "Look," he patiently urged.

And Aragorn saw. He understood now why it had taken him a moment to register what Legolas wanted him to see.

Valar, he had not seen her since the time of his rescue...

"Arwen?" he said softly, his heart seizing slightly.

She was leaning up against an ancient oak tree whose outer layer of bark had long since aged and cracked with weather and time but yet still managed to remain sturdy and strong. Her face was downcast, her eyes lighting on nothing in particular. Close by, Asfaloth was grazing quietly, though the stallion's eyes would flicker up to watch his Chosen constantly.

Arwen seemed to blend and fade into the tree behind her, nearly impossible to spot. If Legolas had not said anything, Aragorn probably would have overlooked her entirely.

Surely, Arwen would have preferred it that way.

"Take me to her Legolas, please," Aragorn implored his friend, already pulling urgently toward the maiden in the not-too-far distance.

"Be still Estel!" Legolas did not attempt to dissuade the man, he had no desire too. He had gone with Elladan and Elrohir only once to visit Arwen since the time of their return to Rivendell. The change that had been wrought in her was unlike the one that occurred in Aragorn, and it was one she refused to let the others, even her own father, to touch. Her physical wounds were healed and healing, she was already on her feet again. But within, none could really tell.

She spotted them before they were close enough. Before either could read the emotions that raged over her eyes Arwen turned away, immediately intent to flee into the deeper section of Rivendell's woods.

"Arwen!" Aragorn called out to her before she had even taken three steps, halting her. The ranger's voice was firm and commanding, yet still held the warmth and caring that it had when he was not angry. "Do not run from me again."

Arwen froze and made no move to escape. She listened to both Aragorn and Legolas walk closer; one in a light, steady tread, and the other in a heavy limp set against both feet. Yet he was walking again, more than what she had seen the last time they had been together. Folding her arms tightly she bowed her head forward, clenching her eyes shut, and waited for their approach.

Suddenly only the heavy limp sounded in her ears. Legolas had stopped walking, but Aragorn had not. It took Arwen a moment to realize exactly why she was trembling. He was walking alone, slowly to be sure, but unaided.

"Arwen?" right behind her, his voice no longer commanding. Fingertips lighted on her shoulder. "Arwen, please look at me."

Choking back the lump in her throat, Arwen did as she was told. She cried out softly as she did so, taking a step back in mortification as she took in Aragorn's injured, still healing state. There was a slump to his shoulders and a severe tightness to his body that attested to his severe treatment endured only weeks before. His clothing hid the worst of his wounds, his eyes hid even more.

Aragorn discovered himself to be uncharacteristically at a sudden loss of what to do next. Though Arwen did not easily allow others to see what she was really thinking, he could read her eyes so clearly now. She was full of heartache; her very soul seemed to tremble with it. Grief and self-condemnation hazed the light that should have been there instead.

Taking a half step forward he reached out for her, but Arwen flinched away from his touch. Falling to her knees, she bowed before him, trying so hard to hold back tears that stubbornly fell.

Undaunted, Aragorn stumbled to his knees and knelt in front of her, stifling a small groan. Ignoring his body, the ranger again reached forward, this time catching her face gently with his hands. Pulling close, he whispered, "Why do you still grieve?"

"I could not save him," she whispered back, both knowing full well who she spoke of. Ill at ease under his touch, she continued, "I condemned you. I failed you both."

"No, Arwen," Aragorn brushed her tears away. "You saved us both."

Arwen looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of pain. "I left, even though I knew I should not have. You could have died-" she exhaled sharply, her eyes again drifting shut. "I never would have forgiven myself..." her voice failed, and she spoke no more. Tears fell silent down her face.

"You could not have known events would happen in the form that they did." Aragorn continued to speak as he held Arwen up. "You defended me from the abuse of the guards during the journey, offered me help when no one else would, took such great care for not only my well- being but Gowen's as well, something that was both hidden from Ralorn... and something only the Valar could have gifted in such a time of need. If it is forgiveness you seek, then I give it to you with all my heart. Please, do not lament any longer. You saved my life. I can hold no ill against you, ever."

With tears in his eyes, Aragorn kissed her gently on the forehead, long and tender. "I owe you my life. It is I who should grieve for you and you alone, for the pain I have caused you and the hurt you still feel. Forgive me... please."

Wrapping her arms around the man tight, Arwen held him close. Letting go of the self-condemnation she felt she whispered, "I am sorry."

Aragorn held her back. "I am as well."

Asfaloth wandered up to the two beings and nuzzled Aragorn softly, nipping at the man's long unruly hair. It was as though the stallion was thanking the man for doing what Arwen would allow no other to do. Still holding on to Arwen with one hand, Aragorn reached up and patted the stallion's white cheek, leaning his face against Asfaloth's warm head for a moment.

Arwen returned to her mother's kin soon thereafter, taking her horse with her. Often, they would escape together to explore the wilds and travel between the two great elven realms. Asfaloth spent many years wandering the forests of both Rivendell and Lothlórien with the elf maiden. As the great stallion grew older, Arwen allowed him to be bred. His offspring were all strong powerful foals that grew in the pride of their sire. Asfaloth died in Lorien when he was nearly 40 years of age, but his heart did not fade from the world as so many others do. Several years later, a colt was born of a direct lineage to the now passed on stallion, bearing not only his wild, faithful spirit but his beautiful color and tall build. He was named after his great-great-grandsire, and once old enough was given to Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer from Arwen Evenstar as a gift. The horse and elf grew very close, and there was a bond between them akin to the one Arwen had had with the colt's distant sire years before.

It would be the same stallion that would carry a young hobbit with a terrible burden that would soon rule the fate of the world from beings far worse than the elves once after Elladan and Elrohir, much like how his distant sire had carried a precious young human when he was nearly dead to conquer his fears, helping to save the life of a man who would later unite the peoples of Middle Earth under one banner as a just and strong King.

§§§

Nearly four months to the day since Aragorn had been captured and the journey had begun, a familiar group found themselves again walking away from Rivendell in search of a small trading town some distance into the Misty Mountains. Though many hearts had been healed of the pain they had endured in the fading past, there was still one yearning to be whole.

It was greatly pleasing to them all to be back in the forests. Though the power of Rivendell was vast and the safety they felt absolute, there was something about traveling through the mountains together that uplifted them all.

Though the journey was not long to Ilmgalad, Aragorn was visibly wearied by it. His body and mind were well on their way to full health, but he needed more time to regain the strength he once had. He was smiling though, excited by the prospect of what was going to happen.

Dusk was approaching as they reached the little town. Elrohir and Aragorn decided to ride ahead, to warn those they sought that they were coming. It would be better for Aragorn anyway, to move faster. The party split ways; Elladan, Legolas, and Gowen coming in just after Elrohir and Aragorn.

Gowen was quiet through most of the journey. He rode with Legolas, having struck an unlikely but friendly relationship with the elf. He spoke when spoken to, but never offered much on his own. He was frightened and exhilarated at the same time, the unknown future and what it could offer literally stunning him beyond what had become his normal behavior. Since the time of his father's death and his own capture, Gowen truly felt like he could say he was going home again... to his brother.

When Elrohir and Aragorn reached the healer's home, Aragorn was very short on breath and his chest ached. He assumed it was from slightly over-strenuous activity that would be cured with some rest, but Elrohir pointed out that it would be an excellent way to catch Don's attention.

The young healer was outside the building, his gaze sweeping over the sky. In one hand he held a book that now and again he would write in, just briefly. It took him a moment to realize that anyone approached him now, so lost in his own thoughts as he was. Pulling his eyes away from the heavens to the coming beings on horses, his usual greeting stopped mid-sentence as recognition came to him.

"I remember you!" Don came forward a few steps and smiled joyfully as Elrohir dismounted first.

Elrohir greeted the healer happily as he walked over to Aragorn and helped the man dismount. "Mae govannen Don. I have someone here I'd like you to meet."

Aragorn had to lean against Elrohir as he attempted to regain his breath. He did manage a smile, and his gaze was untouched by the slight pain his body felt. "Don. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to meet you."

"It was you, wasn't it?" Don took the ranger's outstretched hand and clasped it warmly in greeting. "You were the one they were looking for."

Aragorn and Elrohir nodded. "We were wondering," Elrohir implored softly, "if you could help us. I do not think the journey here agreed with my little brother entirely."

Don was already gesturing them to follow him. "Yes, of course. Please, come with me."

"My brother and good friend are on their way." Elrohir warned as he helped Aragorn inside. "We rode ahead of them but they should be here shortly."

"It has been very quiet today," Don told him in return as he held the door open and invited them inside. "I would greatly appreciate the company."

Aragorn was correct in his assessment of himself, it was over-working himself that had lead to his shortness of breath and the renewed tightness of his body. Don's hands and voice were gentle as he took care of his patient, promising that soon the man would feel the pain for only a little longer. He mixed a special herb tea and encouraged Aragorn to drink it all. It was to settle his nerves and bring back his breath. Minutes later, Aragorn had both.

A short while later there was a knock at the door. Don now greeted Elladan with the same warmth he had greeted his other guests and quickly invited him inside.

"But wait," Don realized there was someone missing from the group Elrohir had promised. "Where is your friend? Did you not say he was coming as well?"

Elladan answered for his twin. "Do not fear, he is indeed coming. I believe he was enjoying the trees too much to hurry." The twin laughed.

"I see," the healer replied. Once again, he turned to the book in his hand.

"Don," Elladan said suddenly, moments later. "Would you come with me?"

Don glanced up at him, a questioning look in his eyes. "Where to?"

"Not far, just outside." Elladan was having a hard time keeping a wider smile from forming over his face. "There's something I wish to show you."

Don set down the book he had been writing in and nodded. "Sure."

Outside, Don looked around. The street was almost empty, dusk nearly upon them and everyone who lived here in this small trading town was heading for home. The sun was visibly sliding down deeper into the edge of the horizon, gently taking with it the light and warmth of her touch. The world was welcoming the blanket of night, stars beginning to appear in the sky.

The young healer looked over at the Eldar, asking for an explanation. "So, may I ask why we are out here?"

Elladan didn't even look at the young man when he asked the question; rather, he kept his eyes on the far side of the street. "Wait. You will see."

At that moment, Don did see. Two beings and a tall horse came around the corner, one walking unaided and the other slumped over a set of crudely made crutches. The taller being, most definitely an elf by the gentle luminance of his race, escorted a younger, shorter young man with one leg bound and splinted, the splints going beyond his foot about six inches. The teenager placed no weight on his bad leg,

The taller being Don recognized immediately to be one of the elves that had been here weeks before – Legolas, if he recalled correctly, leading his mare forward. The younger man, however, he could not place. Even so, Don felt something when he studied the boy's still young face. There was something familiar.

Instead of waiting for them to approach, the young healer left Elladan's side and walked slowly to the approaching two. He acknowledged Legolas with the same smile he had greeted the others with, but then focused on the younger man, a human... wondering, for just a moment, who he was...

Then Don felt his heart rise into his throat as recognition slowly began to seep back into mind, dredged up from the deepest memories that he had buried long ago.

Legolas stopped walking, encouraging the teenager forward. "Go on," he whispered to the boy. "He is there."

The teenager kept walking until he was about five feet from Don, stopping when he sensed he was near. His leg ached with such weariness from the long journey he had put it through since it had been broken. Under the care of Lord Elrond, it was mending swiftly, but there was still much healing left for him. Some of which, only the healer in front of him could give. Letting his body lean forward on the two crutches that held him up, the teenager reached forward with one hand and called out a name. His brother's name.

"Don?" he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

Don froze. Nine years... so long he had long since given up hope that he would ever see his younger brother again. Only since Valan had a glimmer returned of his former longing. But he had never once wished that the one he sought would never appear. Not a day went by that he didn't think of it, didn't remember. He had dreamed of family, real family, as fiercely as his younger brother had. Searching the boy's face, he looked for something familiar. The child he had once known had changed so. Innocence and soft features had been overcome by maturity and age. He was so different... but when Don looked into the teen's eyes, he found something he knew.

Stepping forward and closing the distance between himself and the teenager, he too whispered a name. "Gowen?" in his head he tried to calculate how long it had been and the boy's age when they had parted last. It matched.

With trembling fingertips, Don reached out and enveloped his little brother's outstretched hand in his own. Long fingers crushed his left hand.

A moment later Don had taken the steps that separated them and wrapped his little brother in his arms. He lifted the teenager off his feet and allowed the crutches to fall to the ground without notice, only beginning to realize the depth of the pain from what he had thought lost. The young healer began to cry as he did so. He had thought the boy missing, gone, taken, dead. Only in the deepest recesses of his heart did he continue to cling to the hope that he would see Gowen again in this life. Nine years of lost love and affection between them piercing his heart so badly that Gowen accepted the embrace as freely as the last time they had been together, wrapping both arms around his older brother's neck and holding him like he never, ever wanted to let go, weeping into his shoulder.

"Thank you..." the elves could hear Don whisper, his voice broken up with both sorrow and joy, to parhaps them or maybe, to some greater being than them all. "Oh child... thank you."

Allowing the long since broken family repair itself, both Legolas and Elladan went back inside and rejoined Elrohir and Aragorn.

"Does he remember?" Aragorn asked.

Legolas nodded. "How could he forget?"


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue **

"Estel, what do you notice about this position?"

A sarcastic voice answered him with slight difficulty. "That I can't move?"

Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir were alone in the sparing fields just beyond the stables, enjoying an early morning session of ground fighting. Ever since Aragorn and Elladan had agreed to and made plans for the training sessions, as soon as Elrond had allowed it the three of them had gotten together nearly every day to practice. Legolas had left for home the week before, so to distract himself Aragorn had thrown himself into the learning. Elrohir and Aragorn were the ones actually sparring this time, while Elladan stood close by, watching and instructing with a practiced critical eye.

Elrohir had Aragorn flat on his back, trapping the man to the ground with his legs on either side of the ranger's body while both the elf's hands where about Aragorn's throat in a mock choke hold. Elrohir was not trying to make him black out, but had pressed down hard enough to where it was slightly difficult for Aragorn to breathe. The man was trying to find a way out, but so far everything he tried was coming up with no results. Elrohir refused to budge. He wanted Aragorn to earn the right to throw him.

Elladan stepped closer and knelt right next to Aragorn's head, positioning himself so that he was looking right up at Elrohir from Aragorn's point of view. He smiled at the ranger.

"No Estel, look at where his weight is balanced."

After a few breathless grunts Aragorn scrutinized the twin on top of him and answered. "Closer to the front. He is leaning forward." He was right – Elrohir was not sitting back at all but allowing his body to press forward, inflicting pressure on Aragorn's neck with ease. If it had been a real fight, Elrohir could have made Aragorn black out in seconds like this. It was a dangerous position to be in.

"Correct. It is a good position, but not a foul-proof one. Elrohir," Elladan looked up at his twin with a friendly glare. "Go with me on this. Let him work through what I'm going to direct him to do, then we'll try it again and you can attempt to stop him."

Elrohir rolled his eyes. "All right..." he sighed, as though the joy of this trap-hold he had was diminishing now that a way to get out of it was going to be presented.

"Estel, something you'll always have to remember is that it is almost impossible to trap you completely in a position as this. Your arms and legs are all free to work against your opponent, and now I'm going to teach you one fun way to use them to get out of this. We'll go through it once and then you get to try it on your own."

Elladan shifted closer to Elrohir's side, demonstrating as he spoke. "He has a very stable stance like this; it's hard to throw him to either side." He playfully pushed Elrohir from side to side for good measure, electing a gentle laugh and a warning from the younger twin. "You need to help him loose that position of advantage. Since most of his weight is forward, keep it that way. You don't always have to work against the pressure; usually you can use it to your benefit. Put your hands on his hips and use your body to push his up. As you do so, pull your right knee to your chest so it's between him and you."

Aragorn did as instructed, surprised that it worked so easily. Even though Elrohir was not resisting despite the fact that he knew where this certain technique was going to end, it was smooth and simple. When Aragorn had Elrohir's body straddling on his right leg he looked over at Elladan for further instruction.

"Look at that Estel, you've already taken away much of his advantage. Now, lift your left leg straight up over his body and press it against his right side. Roll on your back! Use both your legs and your hands now and throw him to your right; his balance is under your control. Slowly... slowly Estel!" Elladan coached patiently as Aragorn worked through the motions. "All right, freeze! Look at this..." Elladan pointed out Elrohir's right foot, now trapped between Aragorn's left arm and leg. "Keep a hold on that foot with both hands. Keep your left leg straight and on top of his body, force him to the ground... there you go, just like that. Now who has the advantage? Take his foot, one hand on his heel and the other around his toes, and slowly turn the toes to the left, keep his heel stationary..." Aragorn did so until Elrohir tapped the ground, a signal that the human had twisted his foot far enough. Aragorn released the pressure, but stayed in the same position.

"Now Estel, take a look at where you are. Keeping your left leg straight on top of his body and keeping a firm grip on his foot are key factors to this technique. Of course, if you were fighting a true enemy you could twist the foot enough to break his ankle, and that would disarm him enough to give you the advantage you need." Elladan pointed out certain insights on Elrohir's position and added various attacks Aragorn could do to an enemy that he would not do at full force during practice.

"Easy enough," Aragorn said, finally releasing his brother and letting Elrohir get away from him.

"I'll warn you Estel, this isn't a foul-proof position either, but if you pull it off fast an enemy will be disarmed long enough for you to either attack again or run if the need arises, and the fact that he'll be turned away from you is enough."

Aragorn nodded. "I understand."

"Now back into position-" Elladan told them both. "Try it on your own."

They worked on that technique a few times until Aragorn could throw Elrohir off and effectively trap him. Each time Elrohir was more resistant to being thrown and did what he could to stay on top, but for Aragorn's credit the human was quick; varying motions or prolonging them until he was sure he had Elrohir under his control before throwing him. After three attempts, Aragorn could have Elrohir trapped in less than five seconds.

"The best way to execute traps like these is through surprise," Elrohir told the human once they were done. "And force. This is to disarm the other, to protect you against injury. Everything we do is half speed, practicing intensity and control. But when you get in a real fight, exchange intensity for force."

"These are worst-case scenarios Estel. But when you can, disarm and disengage. Don't stick around more than you need to."

Aragorn loved working with the twins. They were excellent teachers; patient, kind, and thorough, and he had already learned quite a lot from them, reinforcing what he had learned and gaining so much more. Weapon-less fighting had never been a big interest of his, but he found it to be useful and even enjoyable. Elladan and Elrohir taught him about everything – stances, techniques, how to aim and use any strike, where the body was the most vulnerable, and what to look for during a fight like Elrohir's positioning earlier. The twins coached him through all the basics, not only giving the ranger new ways to protect himself but helping him regain the confidence he had lost since being captured by Ralorn. The man even began to notice a difference when sparring with weapons. His body became more light and nimble, his sword swift and strong. The training the twins devoted to him helped him in more ways than one.

When Legolas returned to Rivendell over a year later, he could see a difference in his friend from the moment he entered his presence. When Aragorn ran out to greet him, the man was glowing. It was not a luminous glow akin to the race of the elves, but radiantly glowing from within, so fair and strong. He was so full of life, of light. He was free.

"Estel!" Legolas greeted the man with a large embrace before drawing back to study his friend farther. "What happened, mellon nin? You look... _alive_."

Aragorn could only smile. "My star of light has returned to me," he told his friend. "Right now I am who I need to be."

**_The End_**


	19. About The Sight

**About The Sight...**

Hey All!

Had this been a regular web page you would have found this all at the beginning, it's all my introductory information (or in this case, closure) so you'll know exactly where I'm coming from and where credit belongs.

**Author: **Aldalas, the elven ranger of the Dreamer's Myst (a world no longer understood)

**E-Mail:** sigh yes, e-mail hates me. So far so good though...

**Rating:** R (warnings of angst, torture and one instance of implied rape)

I personally think this story isn't terribly horrible, but its 'R' to be safe. If there was a rating between PG-13 and R it would be that!

If anything of the above listed bothers you, please don't read this story!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own anything but too many ideas, a loyal pen, and four well-loved notebooks (ha ha, that are currently falling apart, the poor things). Whoo-hoo! Go me! grins Ya'll know how it goes. This was written for enjoyment only, I am receiving no money for this, all recognizable characters and places belong to J. R. R. Tolkien that I just enjoy taking out to play with every little once in a while, and any others were made up by me, all that yadidi-yoink. If you're going to be the weirdo who'll actually try to sue me, I'll just roll my eyes and attempt Elrond's eyebrows of DOOM at such a wonderfully stupid attempt of a complete and total waste of time. Cheers!

**Genre: **Angst, torture, Legolas/Aragorn hurt/comfort, Elladan/Elrohir hurt/comfort, warm fuzzies, very evil moments, and more!

**Betas:** Celebwen, you rock! Your faithful words of encouragement, support, and editing always kept me going. Thank you for all your help!

Star, my sis, thank you for asking questions, talking to me about it constantly, and telling me even before you read parts that it was great.

**Summary:** Within mere hours of returning home to Rivendell after a long journey, Aragorn is attacked and taken in the middle of the night without a trace left. Nothing... that is, except for a very short note to Elladan and Elrohir from an elf they hadn't seen since they themselves were young. As they desperately try to find the ranger while fearing for not only the man's life, but his state of mind, Aragorn's only clue to solving the mystery around this strange elf that hates his twin brothers is another young elf with an unknown past and purpose, and a strange fifteen-year-old human boy who hasn't spoken since his father's death. Things aren't always as they seem... and there's more to this evil elf than meets the eye.

**Dedication & Thanks: **First off, to Sawen, for being the one to e-mail me when I had stopped posting in frustration the first time (way back in like, 2004)– if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have kept going!

This story is, in most part, encouraged by two books. First, the book "The Sight" by David Clement-Davies (don't ask me how!) as well as bearing its name. I am not plagiarizing this story, it stands completely different, but the name fit very well. If you don't like the fact that I took that name, know that it bugged me too but my little sister nearly bit my head off when I tried to change it. So it has remained thus. I highly recommend the book though – it's of the best animal-fantasy read I've ever encountered. The second is a series known as 'The Tennis Shoes Series' by Chris Heimerdinger. This one would have several more similarities to what I wrote (i.e. the falcon, the stone basins, choreography for one fight scene, etc) and I will totally give Chris all the credit of his work and how it has inspired me. Just to me a favor and realize something – I did write this story for myself. I am no thief of work. I did not write it so I could feel like some high and mighty writer, I know I'm nowhere close. It has been both my punching bag and my balm for life when times were hard. The vast majority is my own original work with several small exceptions. Was this inspired? Absolutely, totally, definitely. I will be of the first to admit I am inspired by what I enjoy reading. This story is dedicated in part to those books, and the values they both teach. If anything, I would love for this story to push those two farther into the spotlight. They both deserve it.

To Jim Edwards, for teaching me about healing the heart.

And to the Yahoo MC mailing list, best group of online friends anyone could wish for.

**Feedback:** Oh yes, please! Questions, comments, insults, threats, etc... All are welcome although the later few I will feed to my Balrog that I tamed he's hungry, man! And send him after you myself! wink just kidding. ;)

Constructive comments (even the encouraging "nice story!" ones! – you will be my friend for life!) I will cherish most appreciated!

**Side Notes:** I have a very limited knowledge of the northern ranges of Middle Earth, namely the area close to the Grey Mountains. I researched it to the best of my knowledge but I still had to make some assumptions on the lay of the land and so forth. In my story I consider much of the area to be abandoned, dangerous and rarely traveled. If I'm off my bonkers that's my fault, just consider it canon and don't flame me for it! I also do not pretend to be an expert in elvish either. If you are trying to learn elvish, I am not the one to come to though I wish I could be!

I am not J.R.R. Tolkien, therefore I am not an expert on the world he made, nor will I ever proclaim myself to be so. Thanks!

I am not a healer. Yet. I'm going to college for such a position, but as of right now my knowledge is also limited in this area. It was much easier to get information about cures for injuries and other such things, but the credit is not mine. All the medical fun in this story comes from my older brother who is a doctor (currently a field medic for the National Guard) and a few of his buddies. Everything that has to do with healing came from him, and there was little if any that I had to tweak a bit. All procedures are accurate, and all named medicines are too except for one that I made up. Hugs and kudos to my brother! You rock Don!

And I am **SO** shutting up now...

"Mellyn nin, aa menle mauve calen arta hwesta ealequenle."

/My friends, may thy paths be green and a breeze at thy back./


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